Slow
by make.tracks.cowboy11
Summary: Cross-posted over at MTT. Pam said she wanted to take things slow. So this is how it all goes down (in some cases, quite literally). The aforementioned, multi-chapter, essentially plotless smut-fest. Essentially smut for smut's sake, since we really saw next to nothing on air. Enjoy ;)
1. Chapter 1

**The One Where Pam Second Guesses Her Own Decision**

It's not that kissing him isn't good.

Because kissing him is _so, so good._

It's just not enough.

It's your fault, really.

You're the one that told him that you wanted to take it slow.

It was on your second date.

Your first date wasn't really a _date_ date, because he'd just gotten back from New York, and you had just been on the verge of giving up altogether, and he spent a lot of time at dinner telling you what happened with Karen, and most of your words were apologies and regrets, and by the time dessert arrived, you had finally gotten to a good place, and you both just wanted to start fresh.

So he dropped you off at your door. And you kind of wanted to invite him upstairs, but you remembered him whispering, _I'm taking you on a real date tomorrow night. No Karen's, no Roy's, just us,_ into your ear, and you knew that tomorrow was going to be the beginning of the rest of your life.

So he didn't _actually_ kiss you goodnight. It was more of a peck on the cheek that teased the corner of your lips just enough to make the rest of your body begin to startle awake, like _Oooo, this is new! Where has this been all my life?_ But really, your nerve endings were jolted awake on that second date.

The date when, rather than going out to dinner by candlelight with flowers and chocolates and all of those cliches, he had surprised you for the umpteenth time that week, and after a walk in the park, you're sitting side by side on a blanket in the middle of the grass, enjoying the sight of him _so_ much more than any meal you ever could have eaten.

He was stretched out on the plaid blanket that he'd hefted out of the trunk of his car, and it was a little comical the way that his legs didn't quite fit when he was laying down that way, all propped up on his forearms and looking over at you like you had painted the sun into existence. That was the longest you'd ever stayed in that park, because you kept coming up with more things to talk about, and he kept finding more excuses to brush his fingers against your skin or tuck your hair behind your ears, which you'd been dying to have him do for so long now. It was only when the sun that he thought you painted began to set that either of you even thought of getting up, your silhouettes imprinted on the grass by this point in the day.

You really didn't know what had gotten into you, because he was only holding your hand on your way back to the parking lot, but your body was suddenly hot all over. Even when you reached his car and the air conditioning began to blast, fresh sweat was still pooling on your forehead and dotting your neck. You wiped your hands on your dress as slyly as possible, hoping he didn't notice.

He was pulling up to your place again, and your thoughts were racing with the images of his hand in your hand, his lips quite possibly on your lips, and then his hands in other places. That night, leaning against his desk, when those long fingers had caressed your back and pulled you closer to him. The feel of his hair twined in your fingertips was suddenly tingling again, as you sensed him behind you, his hands shoved in his pockets as he kind of putzed at your doorstep. The words, "Do you want to come up?" whisper past your lips, and suddenly he isn't looking at the ground anymore and his lips are in that stupid little sideways grin, except it isn't stupid and it's actually kind of heart-meltingly adorable, and in that moment, you can't believe there was ever a moment in your life when you _didn't_ love this man.

It's a little awkward at first, because you invited him up here with the intent to just never let him go again, but then he smiled and you really just wanted to rip his clothes off. Eventually, you realize that offering him a beverage might be a great middle ground, and as you're pouring two glasses of wine, you have to remind yourself that _This is_ Jim, and _He loves you_ and _You love him_ and _Will you stop being such a spaz?!_

He's sitting in one corner of your couch, his legs spread open like a typical man. But he's not a _typical man_ , and you think he looks so _gorgeous_ with his long legs stretching across your living room and his one arm snaked over the back like he's waiting for you (which he obviously is) and you offer him a wine glass and join him on the middle seat. You're delighted by the fact that he's so tall, because that means that, with his legs so wide, his knee is actually in your foot space, which you kind of more than like. Your heart rate is more than doubling its resting speed, which it hasn't done since you were in high school gym and they made your run the mile, and you wonder how red your cheeks are as you curl your knees up under your body, your thigh resting comfortably against his.

You clink your wine glasses together with one of those cheesy toasts that is equal parts _To us_ and _To new beginnings_ , except it isn't cheesy because it's _you_ and it's _Jim_ , and you barely take a sip before you really, _really_ just want to jump into his lap. But then, the look in his eyes says that he actually wants that very same thing, and now the sweat and the heat isn't because you want to jump his bones, but it's this nervousness that suddenly hits you in the face like a brick wall.

But there he is. Your perfect Jim. Coming to the rescue.

"So here's the thing."

You've heard him whisper at this _only for you_ volume before, but it's usually just about pranking Dwight or the candy inventory at the reception counter, and until now, you've never really let it touch your nerve endings like it is in this moment.

"I really, _really_ want to kiss you right now, but I also don't actually trust myself to stop doing more than that. I need to know what you want, Pam. I want to respect you and your choices. And, for the record, I'm more than content to just sit on this couch and hold you 'til the sun comes up. Just say the word and it's done."

He's just _so good_ , your Jim. And you can call him that now. _Your_ Jim. He's holding your hand, and you're torn between wanting to sit on his lap and having him just hold you until the end of time. So, you compromise. Because you really, _really_ want him to kiss you right now, too.

You're smiling, and he's smiling, and you want to laugh, but you don't want to break the moment, so you start talking, being honest with him like he just was with you.

"I um...I really want to kiss you right now, too. But, I also haven't, uhm...you know? Roy was my only...I just...I want to go slow, Jim."

You're nervous, apprehensive that you'll scare him away, because what if this was all a fluke? What if he only wanted to smash and pass? What if, all this time, he really only wanted to get in your pants? You're biting your lip, staring at the hands that are joined half in his lap and half in yours, so you don't notice when his other hand is suddenly lifting your chin, so _so_ gently, and your worried eyes are staring into his that are screaming only _love, love, love._

His smile is like a breath of fresh air. You're relaxing, because he isn't pressuring you like Roy did back in high school, because one thumb is slowly running over the back of your hand, and the other is running so softly along your cheek, and any nervousness you thought you had pent up is literally melting out of your body.

"Okay. Then we go slow." He's still smiling, and it's creeping up that one side of his face, and you can't help but keep smiling too, no matter how much your cheeks hurt, because it's a _good hurt._

His eyes shift to your lips, slowly but deliberately, and you know what they're asking, so you move your hand to rest on his forearm, the one that's still attached to your cheek, and suddenly his smile is creeping closer to yours. You see him close his eyes before you close yours, but you only do because the feel of his lips against yours for the first time in over a year literally sends your eyes rolling to the back of your head.

His lips are soft, tentative at first, but you're suddenly in the market to make up for lost time, because you tilt your head more to the side, and suddenly he's more cautiously aggressive. So much is happening that you don't know whether to focus on the soft feel of his lips pushing against yours, or the way his hands are now cradling your head and your back, or the fact that you're so close that you're almost chest to chest. Instead, you focus on the slight feel of his tongue, ever so gently wetting against your lips. He thinks he's being sneaky, because it's just a light flutter, but if you hadn't felt it at the entrance to your mouth, you definitely felt it pool in your belly.

And besides, you didn't say you wanted to take it _that_ slow.

So your mouth is opening at the same moment that you're shifting on the couch so that you're facing him more head on, letting your fingers pull at the collar of his polo shirt so that he understands just how much you want him, _need_ him right now. You'd be embarrassed by the small moan in the back of your throat if he hadn't also grunted when your tongues finally touched, his slick and hot in your mouth, making you so dizzy that, while he thinks you're clinging to his chest to draw him closer, you're doing it more to keep yourself upright.

You're surrounded only by small sounds, of his tongue painting words of every language against yours, tiny moans and sighs when your lips shift across one another. You eventually tangle your fingers behind his head and into hair that's noticeably shorter than it was the last time you did this-or rather, did something _resemblant_ of this. He had definitely kept his tongue to himself the last time. As he gently sucks yours into his mouth, the sensations have you thinking that, if he _hadn't_ , you probably wouldn't have said _I can't._

You're pulling him closer now, one hand tugging at his head while you bring the other against his back. It's almost comical, how little your tiny hand spans against his broad shoulders. But you don't care in the slightest, because he gets the hint, and suddenly, you're somehow straddling his thigh, and it's a whole new ballgame.

You hadn't wanted to acknowledge that you were wet before. Because, after all, you're only _making out._ What is this, high school? But sprawled across his lap, you can feel both your own arousal, as well as the beginning of his as it digs at your knee.

His hands are in your hair, tangling, and pulling just enough to make you sigh, and when you do, he takes the opportunity to pull your bottom lip between his and suck ever so slightly. It's not a lot of pressure, because you said you wanted to take it slow, but it's enough to go straight to your clit, and when you rock ever so slightly against his thigh, and his hands go straight to your back to hold you tighter, you're starting to reconsider what you'd said earlier.

He feels like he's pulling away, and you're not ready for that just yet, even though you know he's probably right, so when he does, you take it upon yourself to kiss his cheek, since he's being unfair and pulling his lips away. You're persistent, starting at the corner of his lips, moving across his soft, freshly shaven face, letting your tongue dart out only slightly as you reach the crook where his jawline meets his ear. He bucks upward this time, and doesn't even try to stifle the grunt in his throat, as he's possessing your lips once again. He can't stifle the fact that his semi-hardness is now full and begging against you either, but you take pride in the fact that you did that with little to no effort, and you wonder for a fleeting moment what's going to happen when you _do_ try.

"I can't have you doing things like that if you want me to take it slow."

He's mumbling words against your parted lips, and you can't decide if it's a threat or an invitation, so you just pull his bottom lip between your teeth, nip him just enough to hear that delicious groan one more time before he's physically lifting you back to your own side of the couch.

By the time you open your eyes, he's running his hands through his hair, and you can't help but smile at how deliciously flushed his skin is. You're both catching your breath, chests heaving with pants filling the atmosphere around you. You let your eyes trail, just for a moment, to where his cock bulges against his jeans, marvelling at the size of it even constricted under denim. You feel bad, you really do, because you know he's not going to let you anywhere near him. Not tonight, anyway.

Finally, his eyes are meeting yours, and he's smiling this smile that says _I can't believe we just did that_ , and yours says the same thing. Instead, his words say, "What am I going to do with you, Beesly?"

You curl into his side, letting his arm envelop you. The night wears on like that, cuddling, and sometimes going back to that teenaged way of making out and stopping because things are getting too hot. Eventually, it's getting late, and you know for certain that he _can't_ spend the night, so you kiss goodbye at the door, and then _against_ the door, and then he's laughing that nervous laugh again, and you have to thank your lucky stars that you're finally _here_.

He says goodbye with his words and you watch him disappear down the hallway.

And then, your thoughts are swimming. You didn't say it out loud when he'd asked, but the answer to his question tugs equally at your heart and your clit as you shut the door behind him.

 _Whatever you want, Halpert. Bring it on._


	2. Chapter 2

**The One Where The Movie Wasn't Exciting Enough**

He's taunting me.

Really, I promise you, he is.

He's been doing it all week, really.

Who does he think he is, with his sleeves rolled up so his fucking forearms are just so _delightfully_ on display?

I mean.

He probably realizes that it's the middle of June and that the air conditioning in the office is broken, and he doesn't want to die of heat stroke.

Okay, so _maybe_ he isn't doing it on purpose.

But it's _torture_.

I know, I know.

I _told_ him that I wanted to take things slow.

And he's being _so_ good about it.

Really.

Almost a little bit too good.

Is it too much to ask for those big, strong hands to go somewhere other than in my hair or to my back?

It's been two weeks of making out on the couch, and as much as I savor the taste of his tongue, sometimes, it just isn't enough.

On my mouth, anyway.

When he comes over tonight, he's changed into a pair of basketball shorts and a Phillies t-shirt. I've seen this exact outfit a handful of times now, but he looks so sexy that it's almost pathetic how much I want to be on him right now.

Okay. He'd look sexy in a paper bag. But that's beside the point.

It's movie night, and the only reason I know that we're watching _School for Scoundrels_ is because he'd called me from Blockbuster to ask if that was okay. And I'd only said yes because I knew it would get him here faster.

We're on my couch now, and he's sitting in his corner, while I'm laying with my legs sprawled across the rest of the couch and my head against his shoulder. His arm holds me firmly to his side, and his fingers brush my shoulder softly. His eyes are trained on the movie, but mine are all but. I'm tracing his profile with eyes that are atrociously dilated, despite the lack of alcohol.

Although I'm essentially shoved up against him, I can still see the way his hair is beginning to fall at his forehead again, which I am more than grateful for. Karen had no right to tell him to cut it. But she's out of the picture now, and it's starting to come back, so I should really stop complaining. He hates that his nose is big and Polish, but I think it's endearing. And finally, I meet his lips, so full but still, air escaping every few moments as he breathes in and out. Those lips that like to tease me, bring me to the point of crawling desperately across him until his strong hands are pushing me gently away, before we cross that line.

But I _want_ to cross that line.

I'm ready now. Or, at least, ready enough to have more than just his lips on mine.

My hand is on his thigh. I tell myself it's to brace my body as my lips find his neck, but then I know I'm lying to myself as a little grunt vibrates in his throat against my lips that are lightly sucking already.

"Is the movie not entertaining enough for you, Beesly?" he asks, turning his head slightly to the right. I notice the movement only because I'm now kissing a new patch of skin.

"Oh, I'm sure it is." I don't know if I've ever heard this tone in my own voice before, but with all of the newness going on with this relationship, I welcome it greatly. "I'm just a bit more entertained by you at the moment."

And then my kisses aren't so gentle anymore. I let my tongue snake out to taste his skin, salty and soapy because he went home after work to take a shower first. My tongue swirls along his skin, this new, uncharted territory so thrilling. Eventually, I'm kissing my way towards his pulse, feeling its _thump thump_ quicken under my lips as I draw the skin above between them. His moan reverberates against my lips, so I let my teeth sneak in, only a small bite, barely grazing, but his reaction is completely worth it. I had almost forgotten that I'd been gripping his thigh, but I'm not-so-gently reminded when he involuntarily jerks his leg and his cock brushes my fingers ever so slightly. He isn't completely hard, but he's getting there.

In between licks and sucks and kisses along his jaw, I can feel the hand that had been on my shoulder thread its way into my hair, massaging my head with his fingertips. But then, he's lifting my head away, his delicious skin now farther from my lips than I'd like it to be. He's staring down at me as if I've just woken him in the middle of a REM cycle, his eyes glassy and black and huge and darting from my eyes to my lips that I can feel are swollen from sucking him.

He won't make a move. I know he won't. Because he's waiting for me, just as perfectly and wonderfully as he always has. So it's my turn to make the move, to give him the grand gesture, and I do as I pull him by the shirt collar so that he's laying on top of me. My head hasn't even hit the arm of the couch before his lips are on mine, his tongue wasting no time as it shoves insistently into my mouth, tangling violently with mine as he lays his body atop me. His fingers are curled at my ears, playing with the hair there that he's already made a mess of.

The kissing is wonderful. But tonight, I want more.

My hands, at the back of his head, tug at his hair, that luscious hair that I never want him to cut again, because if he does, I can't pull on it like I am now, doing so as I cock my head to the side so he gets the hint. His smile is devilish, and no sooner are his lips wet on my cheeks then they are nibbling at my neck, and I'm almost positive that the euphoria coursing through me is going to stretch my lips to ripping. I mimic the way his fingers had been playing at my scalp, holding his lips to my skin as he kisses and sucks and licks and bites and sends my beating heart into overdrive.

As he explores my skin, finding spots that make me squirm and moan and sigh, I realize that his hands have stilled at the sides of my head. He's waiting, still; I can feel it in the way that his fingers twitch when he finds that spot where my neck meets my shoulder and his name, _Jim_ , rips through my lips. My body, at that same moment, jerks beneath his, where I can feel him hardening and growing against the top of my thigh-he's so careful not to get any closer, which I both love and hate. I reach up and take his hands in mine and his head pops up to find my eyes. The way his lips are swollen, still formed in that "O" from when he'd been suckling my skin, is driving me wild, and I have to pull him to me, have to suck those lips and kiss them and run my tongue across them before I give him the permission he's been waiting for.

"Baby...touch me. _Please_."

And I'm guiding his hands to my abdomen, pushing a little insistently so that he knows, _This is okay. This is what I want._ Still, he's tentative. He isn't kissing me anymore, but instead, with his lips still open in that "O," he lets his hooded eyes meet mine, as if seeking double permission. I nod, pushing against the back of his hand so that his thumb hooks the bottom of my t-shirt up a little, and I'm almost embarrassed by the little moan I give out when he is finally touching my skin.

Luckily, he takes that as a good sign, and he's back to kissing my neck while his fingers explore my abdomen, my t-shirt exposing more and more skin as he creeps upward. Though the fan is spinning above us and I'm less than covered, my skin is red hot where his fingers have been. He's stroking my skin softly, and it takes his fingers no time at all to find the bottom of my bra. He pauses, but not for long, because I'm thrusting not so subtly into his touch at the same moment that his teeth graze the side of my throat.

His touch is gone, but then it's there, fingers drumming against my breast so lightly that I sigh in complaint. I feel him chuckle into my neck before finally, _finally_ his thumb is grazing with more pressure while the rest of his fingers are cupping me wholly. I bite my lip and whimper when he squeezes harder and his thumb brushes my budding nipple through the satiny fabric, but don't hold back when he's deliberately pinching my nipple.

" _Mmm_ ," is all he hears for the next several minutes, his wonderful, beautiful hands squeezing and pinching, and I'm so proud of him when he actually pulls down the cup on his own, freeing my breast to his skin. I've just about lost control of my body when his hands are warm and on me, teasing me by tracing around my nipple before actually squeezing more firmly, and my hips betray me as they start grinding against him. I was wet when he came into work this morning, but now, I'm surprised he hasn't said something.

I'm in just the right position where his thigh pushes into the seam of my jeans, and if I move just so, my clit is positively humming. But it's only a few jerks of my hips before he sees what I'm up to. I'm afraid he'll stop me, and so suddenly, when I was just starting to really get to know the feel of his fingers on me, when he's surprising me still, and the hand that isn't massaging my breasts is suddenly cupping me between my thighs.

I don't usually curse. My parents raised me so. But when his strong hand is kneading my clit through my soaking jeans, I don't even think about biting back the, " _Fuck_ , Jim," that snuck its way to my throat. With his lips kissing the top of my chest, his fingers on my breast, and his hand playing with my clit through my jeans, I begin to wonder if actual _sex_ with Jim is going to land me in the hospital.

But then, he's painting his way back down my stomach with the hand that held my breast, and he's kissing back up to my lips, and he's steadying the grinding of my hips with his other hand. He's up on his knees, though through his basketball shorts, his erection actually hangs down, resting on my thigh. Well, he certainly _tried_ to break the contact between us. With his hands braced on either side of my head, he lowers his lips to mine. This kiss is slow, tender, and full of love. The love he has for me. The love that promised to take things slow. And then he's kissing my forehead, and grinning at me with that cute little grin that he saves for me.

"I think I'd better go."

I know he's right, but that doesn't mean I have to agree.

He's careful, tonight, as he kisses me goodbye, to keep it short and sweet.

I know he'll be taking another shower when he gets home, and tonight, I do too. Once I'm toweled dry and lotioned up, I go to bed naked, my skin still burning from where his hands have newly been tonight. I let my hands wander to the skin he had hovered above, and pretend, as I touch myself, that it's his hands making me come.


	3. Chapter 3

**The One Where Jim wants to be Monogamous**

She's _going_ to kill me.

Or at least be the sweet, sweet death of me.

Suffocating me with her love isn't even as tortuous as this.

I feel so dirty, running home almost every night to cheat on her with my right hand. Or worse, sneaking off to her bathroom in the middle of the night. It's gross, right?

But she understands.

Has to, in fact. It's her confusing rule that has me constantly breaking our bond of monogamy.

 _Take it slow_ she'd said. _It'll be good for us_ she'd said.

And I'd agreed. Wholeheartedly. Because I'll do anything for her. And not in a cheesy, whipped man sort of way. Although, I am pretty much wrapped around her finger. But because I love her. I know this is it. We're finally _here_. So I'll take as much time as she wants, as she needs.

But her god damn _body_ keeps saying the opposite.

I'd like to think of myself as a good guy. Granted, dumping Karen in front of a fountain in the middle of New York City was not one of my finer moments. Now that I mention it, almost _none_ of what I did to Karen Filippelli ranks in the top 10 of "Jim Halpert's Greatest Hits as a Boyfriend." But now, in what will ultimately be both the greatest _and_ last romantic relationship of my life, I'm trying to do everything right.

Which means listening to my girlfriend- _god_ I still can't believe I get to call her that-when she says that she wants to take things slow.

Even if literally every other part of her body is screaming at me to do the exact opposite of that.

And sometimes, it's her _literally_ almost screaming at me to do the exact opposite.

Like last night, when those sweet little moans and groans and _God, baby, yes'_ s as she grinded against me and I played with her breasts had me _seriously_ debating my life choices as I peeled my body away from hers. God, she'd even whimpered, _actually_ _whimpered_ when I pulled away. Her hips had twitched protestingly, too.

But not tonight.

Tonight, I say something.

Tonight, I do not leave her in a whimpering heap on the couch (unless it's post-orgasm, of course).

Tonight, I do _not_ go home blue-balled.

Although, that's _obviously_ the least of my concerns.

If she's going to writhe like that, I at least want her to leave feeling satisfied.

Granted, I don't _actually_ want her to leave, but that's beside the point.

I'm so glad for the Pennsylvania heat, because that means that when I get to her house this afternoon, she's only wearing a pair of soft cotton shorts that barely cover her ass and one of those tank tops with the little spaghetti straps. Her hair is in a ponytail, and although it's largely to do with the heat, she's already flushed by the time we're sitting together on the living room couch. She's cuddled into my side, and we're watching something weird on TV. But this is how it always starts.

It isn't long before she starts getting handsy. I had a basketball game early this morning, so I didn't spend the night last night, not wanting to have her start waking up early for me just yet, although she sure did protest enough.

She's toying with my t-shirt first, her fingers tickling the skin just above the waistline of my shorts. But tonight, I'm playing, too. I trace the top of her tank top, occasionally sweeping my entire hand to the side to squeeze her breast gently, loving the sounds she makes when I add the right amount of pressure.

Suddenly, she's in my lap. This is usually about the time where I'm protesting, pulling her off, pushing her to the other side of the couch before my dick spontaneously combusts. But not today. Today, she's wearing those shorts that are so thin, I can feel how wet she is through my basketball shorts. I groan immediately when her thighs clamp onto mine and she tangles both hands in my hand and yanks my lips to hers. I don't even hesitate, plunging my tongue deep into her mouth to do all of the things I wish I was doing inside her, and gripping her back to push her against me, against my already hard cock.

The problem with wearing basketball shorts is that there's literally no hiding my erection; it's stuck straight up like a pole. But she doesn't seem to mind. Actually, she seems to be enjoying it.

My hands find her breasts, territory I've been getting to know over the past week. I squeeze them together and thumb over her nipples as she finds a slow, grinding rhythm against my cock, pushing her clit against me, rubbing back and forth as she sighs against my neck. I'm kissing my way down her chest, realizing that my lips haven't quite ventured this far yet when I come to a new awareness: these little tank tops have built in bras, don't they? I double check, taking a quick peek at her shoulders.

Yep.

One set of straps.

 _Score_!

Swiping my tongue across the collar of her tank top, making special note of the way she thrusts into my lips, I kiss the middle of her exposed skin once more before peeking my eyes up to meet her. It takes her a minute to realize that I've stopped kissing her. She's so into rubbing herself against me that she's unaware for a few seconds. Startled, she peers down, her eyes saying _Why'd you stop?_ , her hips slowing as she waits for an answer.

I know that look.

She thinks I'm going to make her stop again, make her adhere to the parameters she put in place.

But nope.

My fingers play with the collar of her shirt, tugging down gently, and oh so little, my lips kissing where the cotton had just been, before I look up again, asking for permission. The little bite of her bottom lip has me grunting, while at the same time I'm thrusting my hips into her and pulling one side of her tank top down past her left breast. I'm not sure what it is-the grunt, the cool air on her already hardened nipples, or the way I'm thrusting gently against her wiggling pelvis that has a squeaky sigh caught in her throat. _God_ she's sexy, sitting in my lap with her head tilted back, my name on her lips as she grinds against me.

Yup. Death of me.

I kiss the top of her breast, letting my tongue sneak out occasionally to wet her skin before I'm hovering over her nipple. I lower my mouth over her but keep my lips still, teasing my tongue slowly around her areola, being extra careful not to touch. She's outwardly moaning now, in protest, of course, and as my lips widen against her skin, I give in. My tongue flicks her softly while I suction my lips firmly around her nipple. There's no doubt about what makes _Shit, Jim_ get past those swollen lips this time.

Her hands are at the back of my head, the grip on my hair almost too tight. But I don't mind. It's _hot_.

I continue sucking gently, letting my tongue flick in and out occasionally while my right hand frees her other breast, my fingers immediately finding her peaked skin. No sooner is she wholly exposed to the sticky air than my tongue is leaving a wet trail across her chest, kissing the valley between her breasts before closing over her unattended nipple, hand and mouth switching places. I bite lightly this time, and when she groans and pulls away slightly, my hand is there to hold her to me, my tongue darting out to flick her a few times before sucking more.

And then, I see it.

Or, rather, I feel it.

I haven't made her come yet, so I'm not prepared for the sudden change in her rhythm, in the way her body gets a little more erratic, speeds up a bit, almost becomes lighter. But as soon as I feel her hands clamp in my hair a little _too_ tightly, feel her thighs clench around me, I know.

And I have to make a decision.

I steady her hips with my hands, much to her dismay, but cover her ear with my lips, tracing the edge with my tongue before whispering, "Do you want me to make you come?"

I don't mean to sound porny. Truly, I'm just asking, in case she wants me to stop. But apparently those words were all she needed to move us past this state of orgasm denial, because she's breathing _yes, please, god_ into my shoulder. Gently, my hands are at her cheeks, pulling her to face me. This is it. This is the moment that we really cross that line.

I look into her eyes, those once green beauties now dark with desire, with a want for me that I'd been longing for. I kiss her slow, long, tender, whisper _I love you_ against her lips, and then place my hands on her ass to urge her on.

She's pushing against me again, but I help her along, less than gently. Her hands are on my shoulders as she grinds more quickly against me, her squeaks and sighs and moans breathing life into me as I push her more firmly against my cock, tightening the space she has to work with.

I know she's close by the way she's holding me, the way her hips have gone fitful all of a sudden, and I drop my head to her breast, tucking a nipple between my teeth. She's crying out, and she's almost there, and then my ears are at her lips.

"It's okay, baby. Come for me."

And she does. Finally. _Gloriously_ against me. She's writing against my cock, riding out the wave of intensity that's ripping through her body as her arms wrap themselves at my neck and my head. Her lips, falling somewhere near my neck, are incoherent yelps of _Yes_ and _fuck_ and _Oh god, Jim_ , and I don't think I'll ever hear my own name again without thinking of this moment.

She's slowing down now, and I so desperately want to keep pushing into her, to see if I can get her to keep going. But then she's kissing me. And she's laying backwards on the couch. And she's pulling me on top of her and wrapping her legs around me.

And then it clicks.

Or rather, my throbbing, on the verge of being spent cock reminds me that it wants attention, as she smiles wickedly up at me and thrusts her heels into my ass.

I know I'm not going to last very long at all, and I'm going to have a mess on my hands when this is all over, but the way she's clutching my back and pushing me against her and soaking wet beneath me wins the battle. I feel kind of like a teenager, grinding my girlfriend through our pants, but I don't care, because she's pushing against me harder and faster and breathing more quickly, and I realize that if I play this right, I can make her come again.

On a whim, I shove my hand underneath us, melding her ass to me as I continue to push erratically into her, my lips finding her earlobe and sucking wildly. She's coming again, moaning my name and about a thousand other nonsensical words, which finally has me coming apart at the seams.

I ride out my own orgasm, loving the feeling of her lips at my ears whispering _Yes, baby_ , at her fingers in my hair and her legs wrapped around me. My forehead drops to the middle of her chest after we've both stopped writhing, and we lay there for awhile, panting and lazily stroking one another before I finally move.

For as much as I want to lay here with her, I _really_ need to get out of these pants.

I kiss her tenderly between the breasts, the tip of her chin, her lips, her nose, and finally push myself up above her, signalling that I'm going to go clean up. Luckily for me, it's Saturday, and I had already packed a bag in anticipation for staying overnight.

When I get back to the couch, I'm more than pleased to see that she's changed her bottoms, too. Her smile is satiated, and I can't help but think that I had something to do with it.

As we lie in her bed that night, drifting lazily off to sleep, I chuckle against her hair.

"What's so funny?"

"Oh, nothing. I just realized that we get to be totally monogamous now."

She jolts against me, her head popping off the pillow to eye me suspiciously. I lift my right hand from its spot at the small of her back and wiggle my fingers in front of her face. She rolls her eyes, swats at my chest, and turns around in my arms, rubbing her ass against the front of my pants as she finds a comfortable position.

Yeah.

Death of me.

But what a wild way to go.


	4. The One Where Pams New Clothes Cause Pro

**The One Where Pam's New Clothes Cause Problems**

We haven't told anyone at work yet, which is equal parts blissful and terrible.

I say blissful because we truly are in our own little world. It's like this little cocoon, where it's just Pam and me and our little nest of love and no one can burst through and ruin the magic.

Why do I say terrible, you might wonder?

Because on nights like these, where the whole office goes out to Poor Richard's for a drink after work, and she's wearing this new shirt that she claims was, "Picked out by Kelly," and she, "Doesn't usually dress like this," but she keeps "accidentally" leaning forward so that I can see straight down the front of the already low cleavage, it would look incredibly odd for me to start fending off the guys who are giving her looks and come-ons.

It would also be incredibly hard to explain why I'm hiding in a dark corner with a hard on.

Or, why I'm pulling her by the wrist into an alley and shoving her up against a brick wall.

So, yeah.

Right now? Terrible.

It'll be better once we're back at her place for the weekend.

But at the moment, I'm praying to Whiskey Dick himself that my boys will be too drunk to hold stiff, because I'd really rather not sit at this table all night trying to hide my growing erection while my tipsy, sexily dressed girlfriend is out on the dance floor turning moves that I would love to be pressing my own body into.

Sadly, I have to be responsible tonight because I'm drive home.

Even more sadly, I don't typically find my man parts succumbing to alcohol the way most men do.

Let's just call it one of my strengths.

Except right now in this moment, when my girlfriend has one hand up in the air while the other is literally caressing slowly down the front of her body, and her hips are swaying to the music in the same way that, just last night, they were grinding against my dick while I stood behind her in my kitchen.

I honestly do try to look away, but even as my head tips back at a ninety degree angle to slug back the rest of my beer, it's no use. My eyes and her body hold opposing sides of a magnet.

I thought I'd missed it, that sly little crook of her finger, the subtle wink, before she went back to twisting and turning between Kelly and Ryan and Meredith. I took a glance around the table, seeing the other guys heavily engrossed in the Phillies game. Now, normally that'd be me. But tonight, Geoff Geary's fastball couldn't compare to the way Pam's legs looked in that _too-short-so-it-must-be-new_ skirt.

With no one paying much attention, I sidled my way onto the dance floor, trying my best to pull the focus from my horrendous dance moves so that no one would notice much when my hand found her waist or she grinded her ass into my crotch. It wasn't the sustained, heavy club krumping that the kids were doing these days, but I got a few passes of her body against mine, staying subtle as she paid equal-albeit less handsy-attention to Ryan and a curious Toby who had also joined our little group.

Still, it was nice. Her back flush against my front for those fleeting seconds. The way her hands would color the air and fall to reach my face in this sensual, sexy way that made me want to throw her down onto the dance floor.

I hated every minute that her fingers danced at Toby's shoulders or held onto Ryan's hands. It wasn't as intimate, but those hands were mine, and we'd spent so long not having one another that it was almost still too fresh to see her with someone else.

So when the songs changed and everyone started going in opposite directions for drinks or nose powder or whatever it was that girls (and Ryan) needed in the middle of a drunken dance sesh, I took my shot. I couldn't tell you if it was the alcohol or my dick talking, but I wanted her in any way she would let me.

When I took her hand, there was no question of my intent, and she seemed more than compliant, that sultry grin on her face telling me she _knew_ what was going through my head, the color in her eyes saying that she felt the same way. I had her back against the wall in the back hallway before I could ask.

Our kisses were so fevered, you could hardly call them "kisses." It was more like sloppy, wet lips trying to fight for who could be more devoured, open mouths and tongues transferring hot breath while my hands forced our hips together and she knotted my hair and grinded against my heavy cock. Her hands mimicked the way she had danced, with one sticking straight up against the wall and her palm flat against it, when my lips found her earlobe, biting gently before I started sucking the skin just underneath.

I'd wanted to kiss the path of that silly little v-neck all day, and I was about to dive right in when her hand slapping the wall above my head that startled me back to our surroundings.

Along with the whistles.

The drunk guy clapping me on the shoulder as he walked by.

My arm was around her waist, holding her to me as I basically dragged her out the side door, the cool air chilling the sweat that had started on my brow as I backed her against the brick. My lips found hers again, my tongue greedy to taste her as it pushed into her mouth hungrily. Her fingers found the belt at the back of my work pants and tugged the shirt from where I'd tucked it that morning, teasing my now exposed skin as she pulled my body to hers.

My dick had been some semblance of hard since about ten o'clock this morning when she'd bent down to fix something on the copier and I'd realized how short her skirt was, but having her hands on my skin and her body pushed up against me had me literally throbbing against her.

With the thought of the brick wall in mind, I shoved her back as gently as I could, my tongue now hot on her neck, sliding down to find the swell of her breasts in that pretty v-shape that had been taunting me all day. While my tongue trailed hot on her skin, I began to rock steadily against her, finding a way to nudge the head of my cock at her clit as often as possible through our terribly constructed work clothes. It was difficult, that was for sure, and it clearly dawned on me that we had a bit of a problem.

I'd gotten pretty good at reading her body's signals over these past few weeks. The way that her hips became erratic, her head cocked to the side, her breathing became short and quick when she was about to come. But dry humping her against the wall of our third favorite pub in town wasn't quite going to cut it.

Pulling my mouth from where it had ventured to her collar, I steadied her hips with one hand, my fingers hot at the edge of her skirt as I forced it to bunch up around her thighs. Not that it wasn't already pretty close by this point anyway.

My body was hovering above her, watching the way her eyes fought to stay open or closed, not quite knowing what to do as my fingers traced the edge of her panties from her hip bone to down to where she was soaking through her panties. As soon as I was brushing outside of her, I snaked underneath the sodden material, touching her fully for the first time. She was ridiculously, gloriously wet, but that paled in comparison to the feel of her folds on my fingers, her soft skin slick and hot and pulsing against my fingerprints.

It occurred to me that being inside the building, surrounded by that pumping music and the voices of others might have been better for us, when a guttural moan echoed from her throat into Scranton's empty Friday night, but I brushed that thought aside as I ran my fingers up and down her length, knowing that I couldn't do this in the hallway between the bathrooms and the kitchen. I took my time, becoming familiarized as quickly as I could before her insistent grinding got the better of me.

It was different when my fingers had no traction. I'd become so accustomed to having the grip of her jeans or her a skirt or her panties to cling onto while my hand made her come over her panties. Being flesh to flesh was new, and I found myself gripping her wholly, my fingers stretching across her while my palm pushed to her clit in resistance to the motion of her hips grinding against me.

In retrospect, it definitely wasn't a _bad_ thing. But in the moment, I wanted more than just teasing her on the outside. While the heel of my hand pushed at her clit, I teased her entrance with my middle and ring fingers, circling the stretchy skin slowly before pushing inside of her. I thought I'd go deaf from the volume at which my name rang in my own ears, and expletives bounced off the buildings around us, but I pressed on.

Or, rather, pressed up and in.

I had to moan, had to groan into her ear and press my cock against her thigh, her body effectively holding me up when I leaned against her, at the feel of those muscles around any part of my body for the first time. It was spongy and wet and pulsing and god it felt so amazing. To truly _feel_ the way her body reacted to mine was just all empowering. It felt good to make her feel good.

I tried to set my own pace, wanting to bring her to her orgasm myself, but she had effectively taken the bull by the horns.

Or, more realistically, she had taken the Jim by the hair.

She had one hand in my hair, the other grabbing blindly at the brick wall as she set a pace grinding against my fingers. All I could do was tag along for the ride.

I kept my beckoning within her consistent, doing my best to hit that spot inside of her that soaked my fingers, and pushing the heel of my hand into her thrusts so that her clit was getting the attention it needed. It seemed that a moan was accompanying every single moment of contact, and I could feel, physically _feel_ the way her muscles tightened around my fingers; the way the skin suctioned and pulled me back was _maddeningly_ erotic. The quick constriction in her folds was threatening to cut off my blood supply if I didn't do something, and _quick_.

And then, I was going full force. Resting my forehead against hers, I set my fingers thrusting in and out, rapid and shallow, while I brought my other hand up under her skirt to focus solely on her clit, two fingers rubbing in furious circles as her heels literally came off the ground to meet my hands. It if weren't for her cries against my ears, I'd have heard the slapping of my slick hands against her skin, sucking in and out.

The only sensations I wanted were _her_.

She was literally breathing heat onto my hand with every thrust, every pulse of my fingers in and out, as she tried her best to keep up with my new pace. The way my name, three simple letters, seemed to be the only word in the language she was speaking.

She didn't really swear much in everyday speak.

In fact, there were only three times I ever heard her use profanity.

When she'd slammed her thumb in the car door.

When she'd been on the verge of finishing a project for her multimedia class and the computer had crashed.

And whenever she was on the verge of an orgasm.

I have to say, I much preferred it when the _Oh, shit, Jim, yes!_ was happening when my fingers were crooked inside of her.

I'd had her come against my hand from the outside, but being inside of her as she let go was just

Fucking _incredible_.

It was like her muscles were exploding around me, trying to resuscitate my fingers with her oscillations. Her breath was hot on my throat, her moans not at all muffled by my skin as she let herself go around me.

As her writhing slowed, I did the same with my fingers, knowing that she would ride out her orgasm until she came to a coast against my body. Sometimes, she'd go twice in a row, but I knew that the sensations of skin on and in would be too much for that tonight. When I pulled my soaking fingers out of her, I dragged along her slit from end to end once, twice, three times, a kind of cool down as her breathing stayed heavy and rapid. Her hips were twitching involuntarily and sporadically, but I could tell by the way she was clutching my forearms that she was exhausted, barely holding herself upright.

Reluctantly, I removed my hands from under her skirt, smoothing it over her hips as best as I could. I kissed the v of her neckline up to her collarbone, her chin, and her lips, lingering there even though she had no energy to respond with much more than a peck and an exhausted sigh.

But under the pale flush of her face, the enormity of her irises, her parted lips were still curling up at the edges. The longer we stood there, our breath becoming shared in our proximity, the wider her grin became, sultry laughter eventually tumbling past those swollen lips.

I kissed her tenderly, kissed the laughter from her lungs, before taking her hand in the one of mine that wasn't, well, still wet.

I didn't want to be _that_ guy to wipe it on my pants, but I didn't exactly want to go back into the bar like that. She seemed to be reading my thoughts, because she cut off all of my worries when she reached for that hand and pulled it between her lips, sucking my fingers into her mouth one at a time.

I quite honestly thought my dick was going to drop to the floor.

And then, her tongue was swirling around each digit, and I'm pretty sure my eyes rolled back three-hundred and sixty degrees in my head.

It was going to be a difficult car ride back to her place when all of the blood in my body was suddenly pulsing between my legs.


	5. Chapter 5

**The One With Drunk Handsy Beesly**

Alright, I have a confession to make.

Sure, Drunk Pam is giggly, and Drunk Pam likes to chit chat and hug literally _everybody_.

But above all else, when Drunk Pam is in a relationship, Drunk Pam gets _handsy_ _._

Incredibly so.

It's the very reason that I stopped having more than two beers whenever I was out with Roy. I just didn't want him to think…

Yeah. I'm not getting into this.

So, anyway.

Drunk Handsy Pam, who is now dating (yes, that still makes me _squeal_ ) Jim Halpert.

The very same Jim Halpert who, not minutes ago, had his fingers deliciously inside of me, making me drip against the wall outside of Poor Richard's.

Not the most romantic or flattering of places for that to happen, but my body had literally been buzzing for him all day.

We've been having these little pillow talk chats about how our relationship is "top secret" from everyone at work, which makes it kind of fun and sexy.

But tonight, Drunk Handsy Pam wanted nothing more than to be all over Jim in the middle of that dance floor.

Sure, it was nice to have his body against my back for those fleeting seconds, but I wanted more. I wanted _so_ _much_ more.

I could see his eyes on me all day, so finally feeling proof of that pressing into my lower back as I danced against him sent a thrill straight to my clit, which, conveniently enough, was taken care of by his talented fingers. So, theoretically, mission accomplished.

But while he was pulsing inside me and passing his teeth against my breasts, his cock was just as present for me as his digits beckoning against my walls. In fact, there was a part of me, more so the drunk, handsy part, that wanted to undo his belt and let his hard cock replace those fingers.

But again, we were up against the wall at Poor Richard's. Not ideal.

And, while Drunk Handsy Pam was certainly ready for that, sober, wanting-to-take-it-slow Pam wasn't quite there yet.

So, picking up where I was left smiling and satisfied, Jim buckled me into the front seat of his car like a good boyfriend and had every intention on driving us to his apartment, where we would be spending the weekend.

Now, normally, I'd take the fifteen minutes between here and home to catch a quick snooze before the threshold between _drunk_ and _impending doom_ kicked in. But not now. Not with my boyfriend's cock literally pulling at the stitching of his pants.

It was calling out to me, truly. And Drunk Handsy Pam was out in full force.

Especially because, on the aftershock of my most intense orgasm as of late, I was already poised to jump back onto his lap.

But, you know. Rules of the road and whatnot.

So I settled for the next best thing.

Which was letting the palm of my hand dart immediately to cover the bulge that was straining against his seams.

We were barely pulled out onto Beech Street when his foot was gassing the break, that garbled moan almost as sexy as the way his large hand came to cover mine and push against it ever so insistently, squeezing together with me.

I had to squeeze my thighs together while I bit my lip.

My fingers curled around him, hard and twitching, as if he was trying to break through the cotton and into my hand. God, how I wished he would.

"Hey there, sparky, whatcha up to?"

We were still stalled, his car halfway out of the spot he had parallel parked in earlier, hidden under the cover of night. But I was sure that the look in my eyes was evident when I peered up into a face that was equal parts _God, please_ and _We'll be home in ten minutes if I speed._

"I thought it was pretty obvious."

There were drunken giggles in my thick words, but the way my hand moved in protest to the grip that he was very lackadaisically trying to keep was all but.

"We'll be home in, like-"

"Just drive."

Something about Drunk Handsy Pam made it incredibly easy to have my nose at his ear and my fingers stroking him from the outside.

The way _Shit_ was all breathy in my ear, and his ass came out of the seat to thrust into my hand, made me moan just a little.

He pulled out onto the road now, his hand still covering mine, though loosely so, as I palmed his erection, revelling in the feel of it twitching up into my palm with every pass. His breathing, close in my ear, was dotted with little sighs, and I could feel his head tic every so often against my lips as they found a home in the hollow of his throat.

It wasn't long before my fingers were on his belt, fumbling in my drunken state for the first time as I tried to unhook leather from metal. I felt his hands come to my aid at about the same time the car stopped. The faint red hue that fell over the his flushed face, eyes closed and head tipped back, was the only reason I knew we were at a red light.

God, he looked so gorgeous, with his mouth hanging open just a bit as my thumb flicked his pants open, brushing the head of his cock that had been insistently pushing against it for some time now. His erection was almost pulling the zipper down itself, springing from the confines of his dress pants once the button problem had been taken care of. I pulled him up with one hand by the belt loops to tug his pants down just past his ass so that I had no obstructions.

I loved that he wore boxer briefs.

Roy always wore boxers, and they were just...too...I don't know, flowy and open and unclassy.

But there was something about the spandex, the way his cock was just splendidly _straining_ against the fabric so tightly, that made my mouth water.

His head was already peeking through the elastic band at the top, lifting it from the skin of his waist where that line of dark brown hair disappeared. I let my thumb trace over the top, finding a bit of wetness already waiting. I gave his shaft a gentle squeeze while my thumb rubbed over his head, dragging the elastic slowly down with it.

I'd felt him through his pants before, several times now. On my thigh, against my belly, rubbing frantically between my legs. But this skin on skin thing was entirely new. The alcohol coursing through my system seemed to heighten the feel of him, smooth against my hand, as I dragged his briefs down, too.

There was something about seeing his cock literally spring into existence, bouncing against his stomach once before standing straight up, that had me wanting him to pull over so I could straddle him, but we we were in the middle of a busy intersection, and I figured he wasn't looking for a trip to the ER at this particular moment, so I resisted.

My palm met his slick, round head and rubbed back and forth a few times, spreading his wetness around in my palm before I fisted his shaft again. It felt so good to have in in my hand, heavy and pulsing, to know that I made him feel that way, to know that when one hand clutched the steering wheel so that the other could find my wrist and tickle the inside of it lightly, was his way of showing me how much he wanted me.

I worked my fist up and down, pumping at a steady rate as my lips found his ear lobe, teasing him with my teeth while my thumb occasionally darted out to find that spot right below his head. Each time it did, I felt his thigh twitch, his knee brush my forearm, as he tried to steady himself. His little mewls of _Fuck_ and _Oh god, Pam_ were music to my ears as I-and okay, this was _mostly_ Drunk Handsy Pam-brought my knee up onto the seat, hooking his knee with my own.

This was the only time that he protested since we left, and I felt him still his little jerks and sighs as his hands went firmly to my thigh and moved me back to my own seat. We must've been at a stop sign or something, because we weren't parked, but the car wasn't moving.

His palms surrounded my face, and Drunk Handsy Pam tried to turn and kiss one or the other, but he held me firm, his eyes black as we came nose to nose.

"Hey. Hey."

His words were breathy, and I wanted so much to squeeze the fingers that I had around him, but his eyes were pleading with me to listen, so I didn't.

"You've gotta slow down, okay?" A chuckle mixed in the words that came out low and scratchy. I felt my skin pull up and down against his palms as I nodded twice.

"I just...I wanna make you feel good, baby."

Now it's my words that are pleading, my fingers betraying me as they flex against his pulsing cock.

"I know, I know. But seriously. We'll be home soon. I don't want to crash. I don't want to hurt you."

And his words are so sincere, so kind, so _Jim_ that Drunk Handsy Pam almost turns into Drunk Crying Pam (who has made plenty of appearances in the past). But those thoughts are driven away by the sensation of his lips on my lips, their wet fullness making every nerve ending in my body stand on end. It was quick, and he chuckled when I tried to let a hint of my tongue touch his lips, those lips that I wanted to devour, but when he pulled away, his smile was so full, and his thumbs brushing my cheek were so soft that I could only blush.

He turned his attention back to the road, and I took a minute to recognize my surroundings. We were four blocks over from his place. In about five minutes, he would be all mine, with no distractions. Immediately, my thoughts were on the pulsing member in my hand, the one that twitched in my palm with each movement I made.

There was no way I was going to wait until he parked the car.

With my free hand resting on his thigh, I made quick work of picking up right where I left off. My strokes ran steadily from base to tip with the occasional pass of my thumb to his head, and I almost laughed at his defeated sigh that quickly turned into a long, low moan. He was thrusting now, meeting my fist with every pump. My other hand tickled his inner thigh, the hair there new and something I made note to revisit at a later date.

He was breaking laws now, his California stops in the neighborhood clearly ticketable.

My lips were at his throat again, nudging the collar of his dress shirt as far as I could to reach the base of his neck as I felt the familiar pull of his body getting closer to orgasm.

My lips bumped, my grip tightening as I felt the abrupt stop of the car being thrust into park. His seat belt was off in the same moment that his hands were on me, one stroking my hair while the other was at my wrist again, circled around me put tickling lightly, encouragingly so.

He threw his head back wildly, opening his mouth as an unabashed moan came from somewhere deep in his lungs.

"Pam, I'm... _fuck_."

His grip tightened as mine did the same, quickening my pace as I realized I was going to have to make a decision.

In that moment, with this frightfully erotic Jim jerking himself into my hand, I knew what I wanted. And, more importantly, what _he_ wanted. Drunk Handsy Pam aimed to please, after all.

I felt my hair tangle and pull in his hands as my lips bent to find his head, enveloping him with a quick _pop_ before I took him further into my mouth. It was truly only two or three meetings of my lips and my still working fist until his hips were a foot off the seat and he was spilling into my mouth as he held my head to his lap. I continued sucking lightly while words like _Fuck_ and _Oh god, Pam_ filled his car. His hips worked erratically against my mouth, but not harsly. Somehow, in the throes of orgasm, he still remembered to be polite.

I heard the wet, sucking sounds becoming slower, farther apart, as he came down, his fingers rubbing all over the top of my scalp. Just for fun, and because I had been so deprived, I let my tongue dart to that spot that my thumb had been toying with earlier, loving the jerk of his cock inside my mouth, the way he spilled out just a little bit more.

Finally, I was lifting my head from him, swallowing and trying as discreetly as I could to wipe my mouth on the back of my hand. He wasn't paying attention, anyway. His eyes were still closed, lips muttering incoherent strings of words that were probably my name and a few different deities. When he finally turned his head in slow motion, his lips were parted in this drunken smile that made me question _my_ inebriance, and if I should've been the one to drive us home that night.

"You good?" I giggled.

His fingers tickled under my palm, loosely linking with mine in his rubbery state.

"So good, Beesly. _So_ good."

Later that night, after I finally hit that wall and suffered many stumbles down the hallway, he'd dressed me in one of his t-shirts and dutifully tucked me under his chin, our bodies pressed together from head to toe while I tried to will the dizziness to stop.

"Jim?" I murmured against his forearm, wondering if the bed was spinning or if it was just me.

"Yeah?" He was clearly on the edge of sleep, but Drunk Chatty Beesly wanted to make a quick appearance before he got there.

"Sometimes, when I'm drunk, I can get a lil' handsy."

"You don't say?" I felt his laughter against my back, but even more so, I felt the way his arms wound tighter around my belly, and the press of his lips at the back of my head. "Well, tell her she can make an appearance every once in a while. Just maybe not while I'm driving next time."

As I listened to his breathing settle behind me, I made the promise to myself to not let Drunk Handsy Beesly get so tucked away.


	6. Chapter 6

**The One With Jim's Tongue**

Sometimes, I'm incredibly grateful for my very high, very concealed desk at reception.

Okay, so the fact that I have my own little corner of the office that hides 80% of my body while everyone else is fully exposed is kind of awesome _every_ day. But today, in particular, it comes in handy _real_ well.

Because it's only 10:30, and I've been squeezing my thighs together all morning while trying my damn hardest not to think about Jim's tongue.

It's a wonderful thing, Jim's tongue.

As of late, I've really been enjoying the things Jim's tongue does to my body. The way it glides down my neck, flat and hard; the way it whispers around the curve of my ear; what it does against my nipples, the slow strokes around, the way it darts out to flick them hard before spreading flat over the top.

So you can see why the high desk is a good thing with the way the bottom portion of my body is jerking against the seat of my uncomfortable chair. Too bad it didn't hide the flush of my face as I took some of the dead time between phone calls and faxes to reminisce about what Jim's tongue did this morning to wake me up.

I heard a thud, and when I looked up, his eyes were large and invasive, peering directly at me like he could read my mind. Of course, he obviously couldn't, but my cheeks tinged pinker all the same.

He cocked his eyebrow and I shrugged sheepishly, watching him turn back slowly towards his computer. I heard the ding before I realized that he hadn't gone back to working on his expense reports.

 **JIM9334** : Doin' okay over there, slick?

 **Receptionitis15:** Yup. Fine and dandy in this neck of the woods.

 **JIM9334** : So tell me why I don't believe that?

 **Receptionitis15** : I don't know. Is it normal to have trust issues this early on?

 **JIM9334** : Wow, Beesly, dirty right off the bat, huh?

 **Receptionitis15** : Depends on how you look at it.

 **JIM9334** : So I would be correct to assume that the little noise you just made was, in fact, part of the "dirty work" or?

It was my time for wide eyes and laser stares, and I saw him hide his laughter behind a faux cough and a fist to his lips. Embarrassed, I ducked my head and headed straight for the ladies room, splashing cold water on my face before I let my eyes trickle over the new hue of my skin that flashed through my apparently wasted foundation.

On my way back to my desk, it was as if the past five minutes had never happened: Jim was focused intently on his computer, and his eyes found mine indifferently, passing a sweet smile my way before turning right back to his work. When I sat at my desk, my phone was flashing.

 _One New Message: Jim Halpert_

 _If you're going to think about me while you're 5 feet from my desk, the least you could do is tell me about it so I can enjoy, too._

Needless to say, I refused to look at him for the rest of the workday.

That didn't stop him from discreetly texting me for the next 6 hours, though.

 _Is it my fault that you had to run off to the bathroom? Because I'll take full blame. Proudly._

 _In fact, I might need a rundown of what was going on. For business purposes, obviously._

 _Or, I can just picture it myself. That would be a fun way to pass my time today._

 _If it makes you feel any better, I've been thinking about you all morning. I just haven't been quite so vocal about it. But I could be later tonight._

 _Do you remember this morning? I remember this morning. I'd really, really like to continue what we were doing this morning._

We were still hiding our relationship from everyone, which was convenient for our separate trips home. I darted out the door before he got the chance to fake a goodbye.

When I closed the door to my apartment behind me, my back hit it hard before I let out a huge breath. I was fully intending on letting down my hair, changing out of my work attire, and polishing off a glass of wine before Jim headed over for the night, but the turning of the knob against my back told me that my plans were about to change.

No sooner was the door pushing me into my foyer than Jim's large hands were engulfing my cheeks and his lips were crashing against mine for a heated kiss that had our teeth clacking together, lips sloppily moving while tongues fought for entrance. He kicked his shoes off as he walked me backwards down the hallway, one hitting the wall with a _thud_ , only peeling his lips away from mine to mumble _Care to share what it is that had you so flustered all day?_

"I'd rather show you," I whispered back, my hands darting to the buckle on his belt as he backed my knees into the bed.

We were both down to underwear bottoms by the time his tongue went stiff, tracing slowly up and down my throat like he had been that morning before we realized that we were going to be late, memorizing every curve from my neck to my collarbone. He licked the length of my collarbone from end to end with his tongue, leaving a wet trail across my chest.

When his lips finally met my bare breasts, I was already pushing my chest off the bed and into his touch. His lips closed over my breast, that tongue doing its best to tease my skin, tracing everywhere but my nipple that was screaming for his attention.

The little _Mmh's_ that purred past my lips must've given him the hint, and as his lips puckered around my left breast, his tongue darting out to flick back and forth over the sensitive tip, I tangled my fingers in his hair, making sure he didn't get away this time. His tongue pressed flat and long against my nipple in quick succession before his lips closed around it firmly, sucking with a pressure intense enough to make me squirm. His fingers were working to roll my other nipple into a hardened bud, while his free arm was wrapped around my waist, holding my hips tightly to his.

He shoved his thigh between my legs insistently then, the pressure of the steady rocking motion so delicious, he was sure to feel how wet I was. The swelling of his cock against my inner thigh certainly had me gasping at his thrusts. But I didn't need this senseless rubbing tonight, for as spectacular as the friction felt. I pushed lightly on the top of his head until the cold air hit my nipples and the skin on my stomach was being peppered with kisses.

His lips suckled all over the taught skin of my stomach, leaving no part of my abdomen untouched by his kisses, that tongue doing its best to surprise me every now and again by wetting my skin, letting it cool once he found somewhere else to occupy. He was sucking and nipping, wet sounds filling my ears, when his tongue suddenly collided with the waistband of my less than flattering cotton panties.

With his mouth still pursed in a kiss, his eyes hooded, he glanced up towards the head of the bed. I shifted my hips upwards slightly, biting my bottom lip to stifle an impatient moan while my fingers ticked the hair at his ears.

"Are you sure?" His voice was sexy and stuck in his throat, and before words could escape me, I thrust my hips against him, more demanding this time, my _Please_ coming out more like a desperate whine than a question.

He was hesitant at first, those long fingers tangling themselves clumsily at either side of my waist, hooking underneath my panties and lingering there to brush against the sensitive skin at my hips. When he finally pulled them down all the way, I moaned loudly at the sensations of cool air and hot breath.

He traced up and down the insides of my thighs with full lips, kisses so soft, I had to close my eyes and concentrate to feel them there. The feel of his tongue was more definite, cool sensations painting my skin. When his lips met the apex, his bottom lip brushing just at my folds, I purred, bucking into the feel of him so close, yet not yet enough.

Finally, his lips were hovering over my center, his hot breath quick to cool to the large amount of wetness that had been dripping from me all day. When his lips closed over me in a soft, long, lingering kiss, he groaned against me, and I could feel the jerk of the bed as he ground his erection into the mattress. The _Ahhh_ that scraped my lungs was piercing, my hips lifting off the bed at the same time that my fingers landed in his soft hair, craving more than the teases he was administering.

And then it was his tongue, lapping up every drop from top to bottom, flat and long and covering every surface of my slit. His tongue went stiff, sliding in between the folds, tracing like he was purposely attempting to make the entrance difficult despite my desperate attempts to open myself to him. When he nudged the tip of his tongue inside me, it was so shallow, so taunting, that I couldn't even bite back the grunt when he pulled away. I felt his lips turn up against mine in a satisfied smile.

His eyes met mine in dark green intensity before he truly dove in.

When his tongue was finally inside me, hard and insistent, exploring, I let the _Oh, god, Jim_ , tumble out of me unabashedly while my fingers clasped hard to the back of his head. He was plunging his tongue in and out, switching between slow and lapping exploratory strokes to quick and rapid successions in the same way he liked to tease his long fingers in and out of me. It was all so overwhelming that when his tongue was momentarily gone, I was gasping in protest.

He pressed long, lingering, delicate kisses up and down my slit, sucking the swollen skin into his mouth with a delicious pressure. Suddenly, with lips hovering just outside, he said in a voice thick with desire, "Jesus Christ, you taste so good."

I'd never been really into _dirty talk_ , per say; Roy had a penchant for grunting these god awful, downright disgusting phrases during sex that he probably got from the pornos he terribly tried to convince me he didn't watch.

But, _god_ , when those words were Jim's, his eyes laden with a desire that said he would do nothing but drink me up until the day he died, they were suddenly all I craved.

"Say that again." My own words were less poetic, and more high pitched and breathy, but the fact that he was involuntary thrusting his erection against the mattress again, his lips closing quickly around me, had me guessing that it didn't matter.

"You taste so damn good, Pam."

And when I moaned again, he grinned for just a moment, all sultry and wanting, before his lips closed over my clit, his groan reverberating throughout my body exquisitely.

He was tentative at first, much to my dismay, but as my responses came out in short squeaks and I pressed him closer to me with my fingers and my thighs, he increased his pressure, which only had my hips jumping in sporadic thrusts off the bed. Occasionally, his spectacular tongue would jump out, flicking gently at my clit, while his hands began to roam my thighs. We were finding a rhythm now, my hips against his tongue, his lips, rocking steadily back and forth. I could feel the pressure building at my sensitive bud, but I suddenly wanted more of him.

"Ahh... _Jim_...I…"

I caught him before he stopped, not wanting him to think he was doing something wrong, because _Jesus_ , was he doing the opposite. His eyebrows furled in the middle, but I was quick to tug less then gently on the now damp curls near the nape of his neck.

"What is it?" he questioned, the pads of his fingers still kneading gently at the tops of my inner thighs. It felt so good that I had to bite my bottom lip, unable to stifle a moan as I nudged my hips into his touch.

"I...your fingers, Jim. I want...need your fingers, too."

He had his two longest fingers rubbing up and down, absorbing my wetness as he bit back, "Oh, _fuck_ , Pam," and then plunged deep inside.

I was so close already, my eyes having long since given up watching the top of his head as it rolled back and forth between my legs. The combination of his fingers petting my front wall and the ethereal pressure of his lips and his tongue on my clit had me thinking I might actually pass out. I never really considered myself to be considerably vocal in bed, but I truly couldn't help the way _Fuck_ and _Oh_! and _Jesus_ , _Jim_ painted the atmosphere of my bedroom while I grinded against his mouth.

"Does that feel good?" he asked, his breath hot against me.

I could barely breathe out a _Yeah_ without my voice climbing a few octaves, but he didn't seem to mind.

As my walls clenched around his fingers, I squeezed my thighs together against his head. Taking the hint, either from the now fitful pulsing of my body or the moans that were now free and incessant, he scooped his free arm underneath my hips, lifting me off the bed and as close to him as I could be. Somehow, it still wasn't enough.

I exploded into him, rocking spasmodically on his lips, letting strings of vulgarity pour from my lips while my hands held him to me for dear life. His fingers became more gentle, milking my orgasm while his lips slowed their suckling pressure, changing instead to more languid strokes on my clit as I rode along the heavenly sensations.

As the rocking abated, and his kisses became longer, I could feel the pulsing in his head under my fingertips. Reluctantly, I unclenched my fists from his hair and opened my eyes, staring in awe and wonder at the sight of him between my legs. His hair was flagrantly disheveled, and his eyes were huge under half-closed lids. His lips were swollen and pink and shiny with me, and I don't think I could have wiped the grin on his face if I tried. I bit back a smile of my own, watching him chuckle breathlessly before kissing the insides of my thighs, teasingly transitioning from one side to the other. This time, when I involuntarily jutted my hips towards him, his thrusting into the mattress pulled me from my post-orgasmic haze.

Finding his hands, I pulled him up the length of my body, moaning into his mouth when his tongue immediately found mine and I tasted myself on him. I let him linger for only a moment, his tongue doing to my mouth what he'd just been doing inside of me, before I moved to take care of what was hot and heavy and twitching on my stomach.

I was quick to take him in my hand, the feel of him immediately thrusting into my palm and moaning loudly curling my lips up at the corners. He turned away from me at the sensation of my thumb brushing against his tip, his cheek resting on mine as he cradled the side of my head with his large hand to anchor himself.

He was thrusting himself into my hand, finding a steady rhythm against my fist between us, precum already leaking onto my stomach. His sighs in my ear were erotic, the way he was stroking my hair and clinging to my arm making the wetness between my legs start to to drip again.

I slowed my hand, using the one unoccupied to direct his lips towards me to kiss him slowly, loving the feel of his strangled moans against my lips. With my hand stilled, I could feel him gently trying to urge me to continue, but I had other plans. Scooting myself into a seated position, I nudged him onto his knees. When my hands wrapped around him again, pulling him to my lips, the noises he made were almost barbaric.

His large hands found my hair, massaging my scalp as I drew him in and out of my mouth at an even pace. I twisted one fist at his base, meeting my lips with each thrust, and clenched the other around his bare ass to hold us steady. Feeling his hips rocking steadily but timidly into my touch, an _Ahh_ escaping his lungs with each thrust, had me craving more of him. When I hollowed out my cheeks and began to hum around his cock, he fisted my hair and held me to his cock, but only for a moment. He pulled back quickly, realizing his impulsive move, but kept his hands hovering near my head. I knew he wanted to grab on, wanted to lose control, while at the same time, he wanted to be gentle. He _didn't_ want to lose control.

But I wanted him to. I wanted him to be unrestrained, to not hold back.

Pulling my hand from his ass, I covered one of his hands with mine, guiding it to the back of my head. When I pushed twice gently on the back of his hand, he got the hint.

" _Oh_ shit," strangled in his throat.

Suddenly, both of his hands were in my hair, pushing gently, albeit insistently, as I continued to pull him to me, using my tongue to trace up and down his shaft with the motions of him thrusting into my mouth. With every push, I made sure my tongue hit his ridge, and the string of vowels that expelled from his lungs had me moaning around his cock. The added vibrations had him thrusting with a bit more insistency. I gripped onto his thighs to hold myself steady.

One of his hands left my hair and I heard it slap flat against the wall above the bed. His thighs clenched under my touch, and the way his breath was coming out in spastic, high pitched moans told me that he was close. My ponytail was suddenly fully in his fist, holding me steady as his cock passed quickly in and out past my wet lips, breathy moans leaving his. When he slipped out, I used both hands to bring him back to me, sucking just the tip in and out with my fists making quick work of his shaft.

Suddenly, both of his hands grasped either side of my head, pushing himself into me fully as he bit, "Oh _fuck_ , Pam," and held his hips firmly against me as he came down my throat.

He held tightly to my head, whispering moans and little incoherent sounds, mixed with my name occasionally drizzled in. When he slowed, his erection softening inside my mouth, he pulled out, his fingers sliding down the wall until he collapsed in a slumped sitting position next to me. We both had these drunken grins, lips shiny and eyes barely staying open.

Breathy laughs mingled between us, and he used what little energy he had left to bring his palm up to cover my cheek, stroking his thumb against my soft, hot skin before ducking to kiss me, slowly and sensually, all lip, with just a tease of his tongue against my bottom lip before he pulled back, still smiling.

Hours later, as we lay exhausted together, his arms wrapped loosely with my head laid back against his chest, his voice vibrated against my naked body.

"So, I've _gotta_ know: did that live up to whatever it was you were thinking about earlier today?"

"I have absolutely no idea what you're talking about." The lie rolled off my tongue more quickly than the time it took for my cheeks to redden.

"Oh-kay, say what you want Beesly, but I _know_ you were doing something dirty behind that desk this morning."

At this, I turned abruptly in his arms, my eyes meeting his in the darkness.

"Hold on just a second. There's a _huge_ difference between _thinking_ something dirty and _doing_ something dirty, James."

"Aha! So you ad _mit_ it."

My eyes closed while my chin hit my chest. I'd been caught.

"I plead the fifth," I muttered as he gathered me against his chest again, squeezing more tightly than he needed to.

"That's okay," he mumbled into my hair. "If it makes you feel any better, you're not the only one having inappropriate thoughts in the workplace."

"Oh yeah?" I mumbled against the cool skin of his chest. "Care to elaborate?"

"I _would_ , but I don't think Dwight would appreciate it if I shared our fantasies while in the arms of another lover."

We fell asleep wrapped in each other's arms and laughter that night. Before sleep stole my consciousness, I had the fleeting thought that, under the proper circumstances, I wouldn't mind doing something dirty in the office.


	7. Chapter 7

**The One Where Phyllis Can't See Your Hands**

The jig is up.

The word is out.

However you fancy phrasing it, the office now knows about Jim and Pam.

It was her fault, he would say. _She_ had initiated the kissing in the break room, even if had been just a quick peck on the cheek.

Things were obviously different.

Michael was still crying in his office as if they were a royal couple announcing their marriage. Angela was none too kind, and he had to keep reminding Pam _not_ to pay attention to the dirty looks that she was receiving.

He'd also had to convince her on more than several occasions that the word _WHORE_ was not tattooed on Angela's eyelids, although he would check for her, one more time, just to make sure.

There were giggles and high fives from Kevin, and a few sly smiles from others, but it was Phyllis' comment that seemed to set Pam off the most.

 _I couldn't see your hands._

"Okay, first of all, _all four_ of these bad boys were _clearly_ visible," she began later that afternoon, pacing the kitchen while he steeped a bag of tea in her mug. "I mean, you can't...you can't...eat lunch with one hand and fondle someone with the other!"

With both arms up in the air, adding emphasis to her frustration, he did his best to quell the laughter rising in his chest.

"Woah, _Beesly_. Zero to a _hundred_ here."

He couldn't help him. The chuckle tapered off his sentence as he bounced the tea bag a few more times, putting it in her hands so that she had something to do with them besides flail.

"I'm sorry. I'm just...this is _it_. Everybody _knows_ now. I'm, almost, kind of sad?"

She leaned against the counter, her eyes peering up at him with sadness, but as always, he was there to save her, a grin creeping up his face as he reached out to caress her cheek with the back of his hand.

"Hey. Don't be sad. Just means I get to do this a lot more without looking over my shoulder to see who's looking in the window."

Her lips met his strokes as her own smile manifested, dipping her head towards his touch to feel him just a little bit more.

"I guess you're right."

"Pam. I'm _always_ right. Haven't you figured that out by now?"

She bumped her hip into his, glancing sideways with a smirk, before heading towards the door with Jim in tow.

"Hey, but seriously," he whispered in that voice that he typically reserved for when his lips were suckling her throat and his erection was pressed to her stomach, "never underestimate the power of a good lunchtime fondle."

He left her stunned, standing in the doorway with wide eyes and blush the color of a firetruck.

It was hours later, close to quitting time but not close enough, that his IM window dinged softly behind the sales report he had been oh so diligently (not) working on.

 **Receptionitis15** : Ughhhhhhhhh

 **JIM9334** : Sorry, I left my zombie quick guide at home today. Translation, please?

 **Receptionitis15** : I'm borrrreeeeeeeddddddd

He smirked, peeling his eyes over to reception, where Pam's eyes were, indeed, rolled back into her head.

 **JIM9334** : Aww, it'll be okay, little lady. Only about an hour and a half left to go, and then how about I take you out to that new Italian place tonight? :)

 **Receptionitis15** : I have my dad's work awards banquet thing tonight, remember?

 **JIM9334** : Crap. You're right. Suddenly I'm kind of desperate to stay at work a little longer.

 **Receptionitis15** : But god that sounds so much better

 **Receptionitis15** : Ugh :(

He passed her an overemphatic sad face her way, followed by genuinity, sheepishness creeping over his cheeks as he realized that he would be spending the night alone, at least until she came through his door around ten o'clock with sleep being her only intention. It wasn't often that they didn't go home together, or spend every waking moment together. This was just one of those rare occasions where she didn't want him to meet her parents at a boring business dinner and he understood her boundaries, but it didn't mean he was going to enjoy his Hungry Man dinner any more.

His thoughts travelled long enough for several messages to cross the distance from her desk to his.

 **Receptionitis15** : Oh well.

 **Receptionitis15** : I'll come over when it's done though.

 **Receptionitis15** : I've gotten kind of used to sleeping with you next to me, which could be a terrible habit, depending on how you look at it.

 **Receptionitis15** : Oh no, you've gone dark on me.

 **Receptionitis15** : James Duncan

 **Receptionitis15** : I'm thinking dirty things about yoooooooou

 **Receptionitis15** : Super dirty

 **Receptionitis15** Like, RAUNCHY

 **Receptionitis15** : We're talking restraints, here, Halpert

 **Receptionitis15** : Maybe candles are involved. Maybe they aren't. Who really knows?

 **Receptionitis15** : Your mother would ban me from the Halpert family Christmas if she could read my mind

 **Receptionitis15** : And I haven't even BEEN to the Halpert family Christmas

 **Receptionitis15** : This clearly isn't working. Oh well, I give up.

 **Receptionitis15** : Hey, you know what I just noticed? Phyllis is right. You can't see my hands behind this desk.

 **Receptionitis15** : Maybe I _will_ spend the rest of my on the clock time thinking dirty things about you ;)

By the time his eyes had finished scanning the pixels of his screen, _Receptionitis15 is no longer available_ was mocking him from the bottom of the chat window. When his baseball sized eyes snapped to reception, her face was a new shade of pink under her cocked eyebrow and cheshire grin.

They used their eyes, their faces, to speak, his fingers too shaky to type anything now anyway.

 _You_ wouldn't, _Beesly_.

 _Oh, but wouldn't I?_

When she rocked in her chair, his entire body stiffened.

 _Seriously_? Seriously? _I don't believe this for one second._

The way she bit her lip screamed _Believe it, Halpert._

Suddenly, he had a _very_ important fax to send. Like, _very_ important. _So_ incredibly important that he nearly tripped over his own chair on the way to reception.

"Anything I can help you with? I'm _very_ busy back here," she said, her voice low and sultry, eyes never wavering from her computer screen as his drifted from the hand that was hovered above her mouse to the one that was hidden beneath her desk. He couldn't see more without falling flat on his face with his feet up in the air. For a split second, that didn't sound like the worst idea in the world.

Of course, she wasn't _actually_ doing anything that could be classified as downright scandalous behind her desk. Who said running your fingers up and down the inside of your thigh was wrong?

Okay, maybe in the workplace it technically _was_. But the way that her boyfriend's eyes were suddenly going glossy made her forget that for just a moment.

"I just...uh...hey, Pam?"

"Yes, Jim?"

It was then that she chose to look up, to meet his eyes full on, with her bottom lip between her teeth, and a moan so little, so subtle, that it took his trained ears to hear it, as she pushed her chair ever so slightly from the desk so that he could watch her fingers trail over what he had claimed as _his_ territory.

He gulped, reaching his fingers to the jelly bean container without breaking their eye contact, figuring he should probably do _something_ with his time here before someone else noticed how long he'd been...well...staring.

When Michael emerged in all of his exuberance, her hands flew to either side of her keyboard and he nearly jumped a foot in the air. There was a corporate mandated training video that they had to watch before they left for the afternoon. It should've happened three days ago, but Michael had "creatively forgotten" and, well, here they were. And hour out of being done for the day with a forty-five minute video suddenly coming in as a roadblock.

The schtick was up, as their faces faded to some olive shade of normalcy, and he cocked his head towards the conference room while she finished typing.

"Heading in?"

"Yeah, just give me a second. I actually _was_ working on something, contrary to popular belief," she retorted, giving him an embarrassed smile as her eyes clicked to his for just a moment. Still, he hovered though, watching as her fingers darted from keys to mouse and back several times.

"Wow, Jim. I mean, I know that we've been outed and everything, but I _really_ didn't peg you for the type of boyfriend to _cling_."

She grinned at him mischievously, pushing her body from her desk, not bothering to tuck her chair underneath before rounding the front.

"Actually," he started, keeping his torso pressed against the desk as his head dropped, "I kinda need you to walk in front of me."

The way his cheeks reddened reminded her of the Santa's she use to color at Christmas Time, and within a moment, she understood.

"Oh my god-"

" _Please_ shut up."

"One perk of being a girl," she started, drumming her fingers next to where his elbows perched, "we're a little bit more discreet when we're turned on."

She grabbed his hand, turning him so that he was protected for the most part as she dragged him towards the conference room.

"Come on, Halpert. We don't want to give them something to talk about."

By the time they'd reached the conference room, most of the seats were taken. In Michael's haste to move things along, they'd had to leave the tables set up in a U-shape, two along the sides and one along the back wall. Most of their co-workers had taken up residence near the door, leaving the back row wide open, and he praised God that the lights were already out as he settled in next to her, hoping that the contents of today's video would lessen the insistent growing in his pants.

 _Workplace Safety and You._

Perfect.

All the more better that Michael made his way right back out the door, claiming "boss privileges" as a way out.

But as they all settled in, with groans and rolled eyes, and Stanley's snoring already filling the room, he realized that she didn't hold all the power here. And besides, the cameras were gone for the day.

He gave it a good five minutes, _seven_ if anyone was actually counting, before his fingers trickled from being clasped in his own lap to the edge of her chair. He started with rubbing the cloth of her skirt between his fingers, just enough so that she knew he was pulling at the material.

She was torn. There was a large part of her that _genuinely_ wanted to yell, "Oh my god, Jim! We're at _work_! This is inappropriate!" just for fun. But duly, she hadn't been lying when she'd told him that _women could hide it better_. Although she'd just been trying to get a rise out of him earlier-successfully, at that-it definitely had an effect on her. So she let him continue edging his fingers along the seam of her skirt, tracing the line it drew up to where the new fabric of her shirt collided, and back down again.

Creed, Oscar, and Ryan made a simultaneous exit, and he took that opportunity, with everyone else's attention drawn towards the door, to sidle their chairs flush against one another, while concurrently brushing his fingers to the hem of her skirt where it met bare legs, pushing it up just enough to make her breath hitch.

Her skin was burning, but she couldn't pinpoint if it was from the feel of his fingers trailing along the insides of her thighs, or from the fact that he was _doing that in the same room as all of their coworkers_. The thought was lost when his fingers, so long and deft, were suddenly grasped around her entire thigh, his thumb passing lazy strokes along the outside while his fingers tickled up and down, ending where she was soaking through her panties. Every time his smallest finger so much as hinted towards her, she found her fingers poised at her mouth, suddenly finding herself a chronic nail biter.

All the while, he remained calm and complacent, focusing his eyes and his attention on the video (that he'd already seen at _least_ twice, and was still as boring the third time around), while his fingers danced on their own, already so familiar with the soft skin that they traversed that they could handle it on their own. It was when he felt her beginning to settle, more immune to the light strokes, her breathing reserved, that he truly had to focus.

Kelly was on her phone, Meredith was slugging sips from her cup. Angela and Dwight were diligently taking notes.

The light petting had been nice, but she was easily able to shut it out. Jim wouldn't _actually_ try to...you know... _do_ _something_ in the middle of the conference room. But as soon as she was deeply engrossed in the video-or, you know, as _deeply engrossed_ in a safety training video as any human being possibly could be-he was shifting in his seat, turning his hand, and pressing his knuckles flush against her.

It was a new angle, a new pressure, a new place. The taste of blood hit her tongue before she realized that she was biting down on her hand.

His smirk was subtle, but it was there.

He kept his motions constant against her, the drum of his knuckles like a rhythm hitting her four times over. She wasn't paying a lick of attention to the video now, wasn't paying attention to much of _anything_ , as she closed her eyes and directed every nerve ending in her body to the feel of his knuckles rapping and rolling at her entrance. She was biting on the inside of her cheek to keep from crying out, rocking forward ever so slightly when he'd pass over her.

It was torturous, truly, to sit in that room with his hands on her, feeling how ready she was, knowing exactly what his fingers and his tongue had to do to coax an orgasm, but being so restrained in their environment. It was torturous. But it made it all the better. He added his thumb to the mix, softly passing the inside of her thigh, which was usually resigned for his lips while his thumb worked her clit, but this was all new. Her breaths came like hiccups now, one for each stroke of his knuckles. When he felt her jut her hips ever so slightly-no more than anyone else would if they were adjusting their seat-he knew she had to be close.

He scooted his own chair forward, giving his long arm more room still to press even deeper against her. He had to keep the same pace, or risk shaking the table, but the increase of pressure found her scooting closer too. With a quick glance sideways, he could see the sweat beaded at her temples, the way her lips were parted ever so slightly, the way her eyes were just glassy enough to catch the shine from the monitor.

The monitor that was transitioning over to a credits scene.

His hand was back in his own lap, making quick work to cover the erection that definitely had _not_ dissipated throughout that block, while he saw hers, out of the corner of his eye, dart to fix her bunched up skirt.

No one paid them mind as five o'clock rang and everyone filed immediately to their desks to check voicemails and close up shop for the day. She followed suit, heading immediately to the bathroom, leaving Jim to settle himself for the next five minutes before finding his desk.

With most everyone gone, she cornered him at his desk as he answered one last email, dropping her lips to his ear.

"So, were you planning on finishing what you started in there or…"

He swiveled around, balancing his chin on clasped hands as he pursed his lips and cocked an eyebrow in her direction.

"You see, as _tempting_ as that sounds, _you_ are going to be late to a very important family dinner. I wouldn't want to hold you up. Or ruin your outfit."

With a wink, he rose from his chair, handed Pam her jacked, and clasped her hand on their way to the elevator.

* * *

It wasn't often that the staff had a "night out," so when Kevin suggested drinks at Poor Richard's for the Thirsty Thursday specials, they couldn't pass up the offer. After several wing baskets and a pitcher of beer shared just between the two of them, Jim and Pam were truly enjoying the night of laughter and camaraderie, tucked into a corner booth with friends. And, since they had been officially outed, Jim could put his arm around her, which tickled Pam absolutely pink as the buzz in her veins wamed her greatly. They'd been displaying their fair share of innocent PDA-hand holding, a peck on the cheek-but once they'd settled in for the night, with Pam resting contentedly under Jim's arm, she found one hand circling the lip of her beer glass, while the other drifted underneath the table to rest on his thigh.

She was subtle at first, carrying on the conversation like normal-something about how long Michael would survive in a zombie apocalypse-while Jim's thighs tensed under her trickling fingers. When Oscar and Kevin disappeared to acquire more drinks, he leaned his nose to nudge at her ear, whispering, "Treading on dangerous waters here, Beesly."

Her reply wasn't vocal, but physical, as she moved her hand intently to cover his semi-erectness full on. The light squeeze she gave as she went from zero to sixty, working him hard through his work pants, had him slugging back the rest of his beer in one swift gulp. By the time Oscar and Kevin reappeared, he definitely needed a refill.

It was one of her favorite things to do, to feel him harden under her touch, and while she typically vocalized that straight into his ear, she found herself needing to be creative under their current circumstances.

"You guys, living in the zombie apocalypse would be so _hard_."

She squeezed her fingers, tugging a bit as she emphasized the word, feeling him swell under the fabric.

She earned a _that's what she said_ from Kevin before allowing the men to continue discussing the mechanics of finding food and shelter and keeping Michael quiet. When the topic of _what you'd do with your free time_ arose, she found another opening. Still stroking him steadily, she chimed in, "I'd have time to work on my art, _uninterrupted_ , which would be great. God, I'd love that feeling."

He was thrusting, so slowly, into her touch, obviously close by the way his jerks were spasming into her palm. Again, with her words, she tightened her grip, watching the vibration of the beer glasses when his knee hit the table. He tried to cover it with a cough, which didn't make much sense, and she was right there to cover for him, ceasing her ministrations to finger the slick hair behind his ears.

"Are you feeling okay? Jim was coming down with a cold earlier." She turned her attention to Kevin and Oscar, as if the explanation really needed to be translated, all the while stroking his hair. It was quite comforting, actually, despite the impending release in his crotch.

"Hey, why don't we get you home? You don't look so good. Come on, I'll take care of you."

He didn't care that Kevin was snickering. He took his coat gladly from the hook and draped it in front of him, loving the fact that Pam had positioned herself in front of him for their walk to the car.

When he pinned her up against the cool metal, his cock standing on edge at her center, she knew it was going to be a long ten minutes home.

* * *

They were caravaning to a paper convention-yes, Michael was _actually_ making them all attend a friggen paper convention, and when cars filled up, Jim and Pam had scored the luck of being alone. When he saw that Angela, Dwight, Kelly, and Ryan occupied the car in front of them, with Michael, Kevin, and Stanley behind, a smile crept up his cheeks.

He kept his left hand on the wheel, but while they drove, his right hand had gotten into the habit of finding Pam. Whether it was holding her hand of rubbing softly at her knee, he just enjoyed the feel of her skin under his. She thought nothing of it today when he rested his fingers on her thigh. But then, as they pulled to a red light, his cold skin hit the warmth of her belly where shirt met skirt, and in one swift motion, he was beneath her panties. She wasn't wet yet, but she would be.

She jumped at his touch, both hands clasping at his forearm as he began to quickly massage her clit.

"Oh my god, _Jim_! What the-"

"Hey, keep it down, Beesly. Angela's one car ahead of us."

"That's exactly my poin- _ohh_ _god_."

He was rolling her clit between his thumb and pointer finger now, something he'd come to discover could get her to purr like a kitten. She sunk into the seat, effectively pushing herself closer to him, licking her lips as she tilted her head back and closed her eyes.

"Does that feel good?" His soft voice filled the cabin of the car, his eyes never leaving the road as she whispered an _Mhm_ , her head rolling to the side.

"Good. Because according to Michael's directions, it'll only take us about seven minutes to get to this place."

She snapped her head in his direction, meeting his eyes with a stare so intense, he almost pulled over. But he kept his cool, dipped the tip of his middle finger inside of her _just_ enough to pull out for a taste, before plunging back in at full force.

It was a little bit difficult to concentrate on the road when she was becoming increasingly more wet around the two fingers he had working inside of her, but he managed. It was Pam who was having problems concentrating on not appearing to be, well, under the attention of Jim's careful fingers, while they drove through downtown Scranton. Despite the fact that they were surrounded by their coworkers, they were also moving through Scranton traffic in the middle of broad daylight. She did her best to keep her eyes open, her face steady, as he curled his fingers up and inside of her. She clung to his forearm with both hands still, knowing that she'd leave marks but not so much caring at the moment. His thumb was working a figure eight around her clit so deftly that she thought her head might pop off. When he added a third finger, she rested her forehead on his bicep, feeling him nudge her up as a gentle reminder.

Thankfully, they were inside, and the windows were up. To any passerby, she was just getting _really_ into the song on the radio. But the music to Jim's ears were her constant cries of _Fuck, Jim, what the- oh my god, Jesus, James_ as he thrust in and out rapidly, racing against the clock to make her come. His arm was on fire, both from the rapid rate of work and the awkward angle, but he was bound and determined to make this happen.

He felt her walls begin to clench around him as he turned into the parking lot of the hotel convention center, and while everyone else turned left for the front of the building, he circled right, heading towards the back, whipping his body to face her before the car was fully parked.

His free hand cradled her hand as he whispered words of affirmation into her ears. Recently, he'd become privy to her affinity towards dirtier language, so as he kissed her temple and stroked her hair and pumped inside of her, _Does that feel good?_ and _God Pam, you look so pretty when you come_ tickled her ears, sending her flying into his hand, her hips up and off the seat, straining her body against her seat belt.

His excuse was simple. "The back parking lot is closer to the exit. We'll be the first ones out."

A simple shrug, his hands still in his pockets.

Because with his hands deep down in his pockets, Phyllis couldn't say a damn thing.


	8. Chapter 8

**The One With the East German Laundry Detergent**

 _Hope you didn't have any major laundry issues...hey, you remember that time that I helped you with your laundry, and that crazy guy came in and started yelling at you?_

 _Nothing like that time that crazy guy pushed you. And then, remember? We went shopping the next day to buy me a washer/dryer?_

 _And yet, here you are, back at a laundromat. I'm just trying to help you Beesly. Be safe._

At eight o'clock on a Wednesday night, the _last_ place I wanted to be was in a laundromat.

I had my _own_ washer and dryer, for crying out loud.

But Pam did not.

Fancy New Beesly's fancy new apartment came with one kitchen (big enough so that, if we wanted to pass each other, we _basically_ had to get to second base every time-not the worst deal in the world), one bathroom (shower space a solid six out of ten for sneaking in and washing her hair, although yet to be ventured), and one bedroom (excellent, ten out of ten, would recommend spending most of your time in this room). But no laundry room.

So, at eight o'clock on a Wednesday night, because Pam is in zero of the places mentioned above, I am at a laundromat.

She has no clean clothes, which she blames on me.

Something about _I haven't had time to do things like household chores because I've been...preoccupied,_ to which I retorted _You are in control of your own free will_ and to which she replied by groping me over the pants and whispering _You're right, I am_ which would explain why one of the garments in her bag of dirty clothes may very well be mine, but that's com _pletely_ beside the point.

Anyway.

She needed two full bags, one full basket, and the help of yours truly to load the trunk. Apparently _no clean clothes_ really meant _no clean clothes_ , because when I met her at the door to pick her up, she was wearing a crewneck I'd never seen in my life, that was about two sizes too big (which I later learned was her father's old college sweatshirt), and a pair Halloween pajama shorts.

"Well _Boo_ to you, too, Beesly. But trust me, what's underneath those shorts is _only_ scary when it hasn't been attended to in awhile."

Her eyes said _Really Jim? Really?_ but the playful slap that hit my chest made her smile through pursed lips as I grabbed that very same hand and pulled her in for a quick kiss.

At eight o'clock on a Wednesday night, we were obviously the only people in that place. It was eerie, honestly. Sent a chill up my spine for sure as I watched her set up shop so naturally, like she did this all the time (because she did- _duh_ ), while I stood by awkwardly, needing something to do with my hands. I'd mentioned something when we pulled up, something along the lines of Wait a minute, thisis where you go to do your laundry? I'm buying you mace. Or better yet, I have a perfectly good washer and dryer at my place that you can use from now on _._

And then she'd called me Dwight Junior, and I went back to standing around awkwardly.

Although it wasn't the worst sight in the world: Pam, her face aglow and kissed by the summer sun, her hair up in a ponytail, bangs falling in her face, pushing up the sleeves of her thousand year old Brown University sweatshirt that hung just low enough to not quite hide her Old Navy Halloween shorts.

God, do I love that girl.

She ended up needing four machines-yes, _FOUR_ -and she smiled slyly from the machine beside me as she dropped each of her bras and panties into the cylinder individually, while I got stuck on towel duty. It was as if she was trying to strangle me with memories with each passing article of clothing.

 _Pink, lacy bra?_ I _did_ mention getting to second base every time we were in the kitchen together, right?

 _Black with white polka-dots?_ My tongue had teased that one _quite_ a bit while we watched Grey's Anatomy. _I_ did not watch Grey's Anatomy. Not quite sure if Pam did, either, though.

 _Navy blue panties, kinda see-through?_ Okay, _very_ see-through. I could _see_ _through_ to how...ahem... _aroused_ she was from across the couch. Oh, did I happen to mention that she'd come out of my room in nothing _but_ these panties and one of my t-shirts? Did I also happen to mention that I _love_ this woman?

 _Cotton panties with a string hanging off the side that she refuses to cut?_ Definitely my fault. Definitely tried to pull them off with my teeth, thinking I was being sexy. She laughed. A _lot_. Not for long though.

 _Nike sports bra that she only wears because she says, "If I wear my workout clothes, I'll be more inclined to workout!"_ Oh, she _worked_ out, alright. She got about halfway around the block on a "run," came back all sweaty and complain-y and fuckin' adorable, said _This is why I don't workout, Jim! It isn't worth it!_ And then I fed her some cheesy line about being her personal trainer. Whatever. The endorphins must have been racing or something, because she definitely bought it, and I _definitely_ burned a ton of calories that afternoon.

We also made the executive decision to wash her sheets and comforter, because, well… Do I need an explanation? Didn't think so.

As she held the pink plastic cup to her face, scrunching her nose in concentration while she measured the detergent, I had the biggest, dopiest grin on my face. The sleeves of her sweatshirt bunched into four different rolls at her elbow, and her bangs were falling out from behind her ears, and I wanted nothing more than to just bury my nose in the crook of her neck and give her the biggest bear hug.

So I did.

After she dumped the cup of detergent into the washer and closed the top, _obviously_.

She made a little noise of surprise, something like _Ohp_! but eventually found her way to sighs and giggles as she wound her arms around my back, pulling us closer together.

"Hey," she managed through her petering giggles. "What's this for?"

I pulled back enough to cradle the small of her back in my clasped hands, enough to see her face, to shrug simply as my eyes went from her forehead down to where our bodies met at the waist and back.

"You ever have those moments where you just...remember how much you love someone?"

I swear she was getting teary eyed, so I swooped in and gave her a kiss that definitely did _not_ say _we're in a laundromat right now,_ but wasn't slow enough to make her think I was going to haul her up on top of the washing machine.

She balanced her two tiny hands flat on my chest, and when I pulled away, a small popping noise leaving our lips, she bit her bottom lip for a fraction of a second.

"I...I mean, trust me, baby, I _do_ , but, here?" Her giggles followed the raise of her eyebrow as her gaze drifted from one corner of the laundromat to the other.

"Yep."

"Here? In the _laundromat_."

"Yes, Beesly. Here, in the laundromat."

I let her go now, attending to the towels that I had abandoned in favor of pressing her body as close to mine as physically possible, making sure I added enough fabric softener for the size of the load. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw her eye me suspiciously before she screwed the cap on the detergent, folded her empty garment bags, and found an empty table. We'd stopped for late night burgers and fries on the way, so while her clothes worked through the sudsy cycle, we shared ketchup cups and nonsensical conversation. When her fry pile was down to the nubs, she started painting pictures in the ketchup, training her eyes on her portrait while she spoke.

"Wait, so...earlier…"

"Yes?" I chuckled, poking her fingers with my own fry. I had paced myself. I still had several good poking fries left in my bag.

"I...you said you...remembered how much you loved me, or...something."

The words were low, tapering off into a whisper, as she tilted her head to rest on a closed fist, her eyebrows pinching upwards. Mine did the same, realizing that we had gone from lighthearted and fun and touching all of her underwear in public to _Oh right-she spent so many years of her life with Roy that sometimes, she doesn't see love for what it really is._

I used two of my fingers to reach across the table to lift her chin so that her wary eyes were level with mine. Something about her tonight had begun as a picture of adorable, but had transformed so quickly into vulnerability.

"I did."

I offered her a smile, small but genuine. Whenever I smiled like that, she always teased me that it was _such a Jim smile_ , but I knew that deep down, it was her favorite.

"Okay...so. We're in the middle of a laundromat, Jim," she almost scoffed, rolling her eyes in that _You couldn't possibly love me in the middle of a laundromat_ way. She gestured, as if she needed to remind me of our surroundings.

"And?" I chucked again, brushing those bangs behind her ear like I'd been dying to do since we got there.

"I just…"

I cut her off, putting her out of her misery before she let her mind carry her away.

"I just, I don't know, Pam. I looked over at you in this goofy little outfit with your hair pulled back and I thought about how lucky I am that you let me see you like this. That this is something special, just between us. It was just a reminder of all the little things I love about you."

I shrugged again, smiling that same smile as I watched her get up from the table, take my face in her tiny hands, and press her lips firmly to mine. When she pulled away, she was smiling again. She ran her fingers up and over my hair before whispering, _I love you, too_ against my lips.

Her clothes were finished, but the towels and sheets were on the heavy cycle, so I helped her find dryer sheets and load up the dryers, taking it upon myself to get the quarters while she perched on top of the running washer and waited. As I pushed the quarters into the two separate machines, I let my thoughts wander for just a minute to the fear on her face, embarrassment almost, that someone could love her in the spur of a moment. While I had certainly smirked at all of the panties she was sorting through earlier, it truly was in those little moments that I loved her the most-no makeup, one of my t-shirts hanging off her shoulder, reading a book or painting or sketching or, honestly? Whining about the weather. It killed me that the residual effects from her previous relationship stopped her from believing that sometimes. I turned around with every intent of reminding her, of professing these things in the middle of the friggen Laundry King.

But she stopped me before I could.

I turned to see my girlfriend, bangs already back in her face, perched on top of a washing machine.

A washing machine that was _on_ and _functioning_.

A washing machine that she was, apparently, situated on the corner of, with her legs effectively straddling said corner.

She had her hands behind her on either side of the machine, and her head was tipped back just slightly, her lips parted just enough, that my balls dropped to my shoes when I realized what was happening.

My girlfriend, my wonderful, beautiful, amazing girlfriend, Pam Beesly, had hopped up onto the washing machine-presumably to be cute, to wait for me, to cross her feet at the ankles and tilt her head to the side and make some quirky comment when I sidled up to her. But instead, while I had putzed in my own thoughts at the dryer, my wonderful, beautiful amazing girlfriend Pam had become privy to the, erm, _sensations_ of the washing machine.

Was taking _full advantage_ of the sensations of the washing machine.

And I didn't know whether I should watch or jump into a sudsy bath myself.

I opted for a slow approach, taking careful steps as I bridged the twenty feet between the dryers and the washers. She rolled her head from one side to the other, her eyes still closed, looking so unadulteratedly sexy as she jutted her hips-just once, _so_ subtly-before sitting still again, apparently letting the washing machine do its job.

Now, I _know_ we were the only people in here, and I _know_ that a little bell _dinged_ at the front whenever someone came in, so it would be _super_ easy for her to stop, but honestly? I didn't really think she had it in her.

When I was finally situated in front of her, I gave myself a moment to enjoy this. Not in a creepy way, but in a _my girlfriend is kind of unintentionally getting off in public and I'll probably never see this again_ way. My throat closed up a little when her bottom lip pulled inside of her mouth, and I had to grab her thighs for balance. As I did, my lips met her ear, my breath tickling her as I whispered _Enjoying yourself a little too much on laundry night, Beesly?_

I swear to god, if I hadn't been holding her down, she'd have hit the ceiling. Her face was more red than the thong I'd just thrown into the dryer ( _definitely used the lace against her to my advantage; my girl loved her some friction_ ), and her legs popped closed so quickly that I thought I'd need her father's permission on our wedding night to ever open them again.

"Oh my god," she breathed, between the hands that were now clasped in front of her mouth in two tiny fists, her eyes as wide as saucers.

"Oh my god, Jim, oh my-"

I leaned my forehead against hers, trying my hardest and failing at stifling the laughter in my throat. At her reaction, of course. I wrapped my arms around her, pulling her against my chest, her fists digging into me from where they still pushed into her eyes.

"I'm going to crawl into a hole and die now."

"No you aren't," I chuckled, running a hand down the back of her head over and over again.

"Yes I am."

She was hiding in my chest now, and I had that surge of love pulse through me again as I lifted my head, so closely mimicking the way we had been once cycle ago. With her face between my palms, I carefully peeled her fingers away until she was looking at me.

"Hey."

"I jumped up and closed my eyes for _literally_ a second, I _swear to god."_

"You don't have to explain yourself to me," I said, my grin almost reaching my eyes, my fingers cradling her cheeks.

"Ugh, _Jim_. I want to _die_."

I could only laugh, securing her to me tightly again before I felt the machine next to her stop.

I kissed her forehead, long and kind of wet, leaving a smack when I pulled away, her cheeks still positively red under the hands that tried to hide it.

As I pulled her comforter from the machine and headed to the dryers, I turned on my heels, a sly eyebrow raised. I couldn't resist.

"If you want, I can turn around so you can finish. That cycle probably doesn't have too much time left on it though-"

" _James Duncan!"_

I headed to the dryers then, still laughing when she met me with a hard _slap_ in the back.

When she was finished loading the towels, I was perched on the same machine as she had been, my legs outstretched, hands prone in the same position.

She was a warmer pink now, as she approached me, her eyes squinty with a look that said _James Duncan Halpert, do not make me turn this car around._

"I mean, I suppose I get the appeal," I began, trying _so_ diligently to keep my demeanor collected and serious. "Maybe I should send you for some quarters, test this bad boy out for all its worth."

But my girlfriend, my wonderful, beautiful girlfriend Pam was apparently up for no monkey business tonight. She was playing for blood.

The way she approached me, her steps sly and her gaze fixed and hard, almost seemed like she was stalking her prey. I gulped when she settled those still small hands on my thighs, her nose not inches from mine as she whispered, "I don't know, Halpert. I don't think you'd be able to handle it."

My _mind_ was now on the turbo cycle.

 _Handle_ it? Handle _what_? How did she _know_ if I could handle it? Could _she_ handle it? _Had_ she handled it? I mean, I know I'd been in her drawers before but-

"Hey!"

The new voice, even hanging on one syllable, was garbled at best.

I guess we'd missed the ding of the bell after all.

The man who had just entered the room kind of resembled a dirty hippie. I don't mean to be rude, but that was the first thought that popped into my mind. Mid 60's, jean shorts that were probably from 1975 (and hadn't been washed since), a Stones t-shirt, his greying hair giving Pam's curls a run for their money. When he opened his mouth to speak again, I noticed that several of his teeth were missing, too. He balanced an army sack and a bottle of Tide as he walked farther into the room.

We really didn't know what to say, what to do. Pam did back up a bit though, not so much _leaning into my lap_ anymore. But it's not like we were _actually_ doing anything scandalous.

"I said _hey_."

I jumped down then, Protective-Boyfriend-Mode officially activated as I tucked myself between Pam and the crazy old guy.

"Hey, man. Something I can do for you?"

"That's my machine."

Apparently, the same machine that my girlfriend had been using as a sex toy was property of crazy old guy. Interesting.

I moved away by about a foot, but as I grabbed Pam's hand, she muttered something to the likes of _Plenty of other machines open in this empty place._

Which was, apparently, a bad, _bad_ move.

"Wanna speak a little clearer, girly?"

Her cheeks flushed pink again, but this time in fear and embarrassment.

"Come on, speak up! I can't fix the problem if I don't hear what you're saying!"

He was thrusting his arms in the air as he spoke. I had the fleeting thought that he might be on drugs.

"Plenty of other machines! Plenty of other machines! Well listen up, sis. This one here is my machine! Has my name carved into the side. I'll show you if you'd like."

At this point, he was hunched at his waist, creeping uncomfortably into Pam's line of sight, and I had just about had it.

"Hey, LISTEN buddy."

But I was cut off by his dirty hands on my clean shirt. He shoved me backwards, my ass hitting the machine he so clearly coveted as he continued on his rant.

"Listen to _me_ , buddy! My machine! I have dibs! If the pretty lady wants to see where my name is, I'll show the pretty lady-"

" _DUSTIN_. _What_ did I _say_ about your dirty little ass comin' into my shop?"

Ebony, the woman who was running the desk tonight, bounded into the room with her hands on her hips. It took all of one good glare to send him straight out the door.

She apologized for the behavior, said something about a supposed _lifetime ban,_ and offered to reimburse Pam for her laundry. When we got back to her place, even on clean sheets, I still felt dirty.

I held her close that night, my eyes still widened from the _bat-shit_ experience that we'd had.

"Okay, _first thing_ tomorrow night? We're going to buy you your _own_ washer and dryer."

So, as promised, after much time spent sorting through models, and about an hour of installation, Fancy New Beesly's fancy new apartment now came fully equipped with a washer and dryer.

I stood, wiping my forehead with the back of my hand and admired my handiwork. She wound her arms around me, tucking her body slyly under my raised arm.

"Thank you."

"It was my pleasure, _little lady_."

"Ew. Oh my god. _Jim_. Do _not_ call me that _ever again_."

I chuckled, turning her so that her back was against the dryer now, her body facing me.

"Guess we should give this puppy a test run, huh?"

She nodded in agreement, but wrongly so. While she attempted in vain to find any article of clothing to wash, I was was hoisting her hips up onto the corner of the newly minted dryer.

Her expression went from confused to intense all too quickly as she gripped my shoulder. I settled her on the edge, nudging her hips apart with my thighs as I settled between her.

"So, what do you think? Should I set it for delicates? Or is heavy more your speed?"

My tongue darted out to trace the curve of her ear. Her words said " _Jim, please stop ruining the moment by sounding like a porno_ ," but the breathiness told me that she had some unfinished business to attend to from last night.

I turned the knob on the dryer to on, and realized very quickly how loud this ordeal was about to get. But as my hands slid up the insides of her thighs, through her cotton shorts, tickling the elastic of her panties, volume didn't so much matter.

While one of my hands pulled out to rest on her hip, the fingers of my right hand pushed her panties to the side, finding her slick already. I ran my pointer finger along her slit once, then focused on her clit, rubbing slow, even circles over her with my thumb, as my left hand pushed her in a slow rocking motion. Her eyes, on mine, were hesitant at first, but when I squeezed her hip gently, my lips finding the crook of her neck softly, she gave in.

At first, she was tentative, leaning more into my touch than anything else. Her soft moans weren't audible over the whir of the dryer, but I could feel them on my cheek as she exhaled, one hand wrapped around my back, while the other perched on the dryer. Eventually, she gave in to the pulsing of the dryer, and no sooner was she clinging to my forearm than her left leg was bending backwards, the angle giving her better leverage against both my hand and the dryer. She was rocking against both now, her forehead dropped like lead to my shoulder; I could feel her breath, quick and hot on my neck. I whispered things like _That's it, baby, that's it_ while the hand at her hip encouraged her along. I could feel my name hot on my throat as she breathed it in short waves, her hips grinding more erratically.

While Pam and I had been together physical for awhile now, and despite all of the ways that she took initiative, I knew she still held reservations-and not just in the bedroom. But to see her like this, so uninhibited and raw and exposed? I was honestly proud of her, for as weird as that sounds. I took a moment to just watch her, wanton and gorgeous and sexy as she allowed pleasure to overcome her entire being.

When she was shouting _OH my god, oh my_ god!, her hips jumping off the metal, I focused both of my hands solely on helping her enjoy this. Quickly, both of my hands were encasing her waist, directing her clit to the corner of the dryer, holding her there as I found a steady rhythm to help her rock against. It was steady, but it was _fast_ , as I took her lead. Her eyes were clenched shut, and she seemed to be fighting with her body, the pleasure so intense as it shot through her that she both wanted to pull away and stay as close as possible. I held her down, not wanting her to fall, but helped her slow the rhythm as she cried out loudly in the small closet. When she was finished rocking her hips, I gathered her into my arms and cradled her to the couch, resting her spent body atop mine while I kissed a soft, slow trail from her forehead down to her collarbone, ending eventually at her lips.

Minutes passed by, of me stroking her hair and landing kisses on the top of her head, before she finally lifted her eyes to me, a sensual grin shining in her eyes. I matched hers, the words low in my throat as I told her, "Oh my god, Pam, that was _so_ sexy. You have _no_ idea."

She blushed, trying to hide her face as her nose turned away, but I caught her in my hands, kissing the tip of her nose.

"Seriously?" she questioned, eyes still closed.

"Hey. _Seriously_."

She lay her cheek on my chest, rubbing her nose across my t-shirt back and forth before planting a kiss above my heart.

All of a sudden, laundry day didn't seem so bad.


	9. Chapter 9

**The One That Sounds Like Freshman Year English Class**

It's a dangerous game we've begun to play.

A very dangerous game, indeed.

But I like it, maybe a little bit too much.

It wasn't so bad when he was coming over after work, keying into my apartment to find me already in my bra and panties, stripping down to his boxers to rub cotton on cotton until we were both satiated and spent. I mean, we certainly _were_ putting my new washer and dryer to use, I'll tell you that much.

But it's gotten so much worse-in a good way-over the past week or so.

And it is one- _hundred_ percent my fault.

It didn't start out terribly- _truly_.

There was a night that involved a late dinner with a client, so I knew he wouldn't be coming around until later that evening. I snuck down to his car to kiss him goodbye; nothing higher than a PG-13 rating (only because he'd slipped his tongue in, and made me grip onto the lapels of his suit jacket in the process). I'd said something along the lines of _I'm going to be thinking about you all night,_ when we hugged, my lips at his ears because I'd thrown my arms around his neck. It was totally innocent on my end-I really _would_ be thinking about him all night, because we typically didn't spend more than twenty minutes apart from one another (approximately the time it took to get from work to our own places to change and head to wherever we had planned for the night, and that was only _if_ we hadn't packed a bag, which was becoming more common), so I'd meant it in a _totally clingy sappy girlfriend_ way, like I'd be pining for him on my couch with a bowl of ice cream and a dramatic television show until he came to see me.

Apparently, James Halpert did _not_ take it that way.

Which I found out at about 8 PM when he came tumbling through my doorway, shoes flinging through the air haphazardly, his messenger bag _flying_ -knocking into a lamp in the process-and his body flushed and sweating and una _bashedly_ aroused.

To say he'd caught me off guard-what, with my hair on top of my head in a bun, wearing only one of his long t-shirts and a pair of mismatched Christmas socks, my mouth literally stuffed full of ice cream-was an understatement. I stopped, my cheeks puffed out like a hamster putting away food for the winter, with the spoon almost to my lips. A drop of chocolate chip cookie dough _plopped_ back into the bowl as he crossed the living room in approximately three strides, stopping abruptly when he reached the couch with his eyes popping.

"Uh, hi," I mumbled, trying my hardest to swallow the obnoxious spoonful that I had in my mouth, my other hand reaching over the grab the remote and silence _Bones_ with my eyes glued to his face, pink tinting his cheeks, his lips parted in a way that made me want to cross my legs and also maybe hide for the fear that he might _actually_ devour me whole.

With our eyes still locked, he took the bowl from my hands and set it down on the table before his big hands came to engulf my cheeks. His eyes, wide and a little red, were this intense green I hadn't seen before, little flecks of gold swirling deftly around his irises. I gulped, feeling his thumbs trace up and down my cheeks, his eyes finally leaving mine to find my lips, then very slowly drag upwards again.

"Do you know...what I've been doing all night?"

The rational part of my brain immediately went to _eating dinner with some corporate bigwig and probable selling paper,_ but the way he was acting, was still hovering above me instead of sitting down on the couch, the way his voice was scratchy and slow, the way he was positively _taut_ against the zipper of his pants, had warmth pooling to the pair of Hanes cotton panties that I'd throw on.

Again, _not expecting him until later. Also not thinking that my earlier comment would turn him into a raging sex manic._

But here we were.

I barely choked out a _What?_ , gripping onto his forearms when he pushed me a little bit less than gently into the corner of the couch, his knee coming flush between my legs, which caused me to breath a moan between us. He continued to stare, his eyes wide and roaming as his fingers continued to play at my cheeks.

"Thinking about what you said earlier." He punctuated this thought-the one that still had me clueless, because I definitely hadn't meant it that way-with the beginning pulses of his knee, steady and pressing against my clit.

I'd meant for _Mhm?_ to come out, but it was sorely replaced by a long string of _Mmmm_ , my eyes closing for its duration, before he spoke again.

"Thinking about _you_ , thinking about _me_." The inflection on each word earned me a bit of a harder thrust, and I was mewling now, biting my bottom lip while he continued to torture me.

"You're lucky I was able to sell paper tonight, Beesly. Do you have... _any_ idea what you did to me?"

With my eyes still closed, now steadily rocking against his knee, focusing solely on the sensations and his words, his gravelly words that were driving me nuts, I simply shook my head quickly, wanting to know just what I'd done to him. My eyes popped open when his hand left my cheek to close itself around one of my hands, dragging it to the erection that was popping at the zipper of his pants.

"This is what you did to me, Pam. All night, just thinking about you, sitting here alone, thinking about me. _This_ is what that did to me."

We were stroking him together, his large hand covering mine, which covered his turgid cock, in what was possibly _the_ hottest experience of my life, when I finally lost it.

I shoved him backwards onto the couch, forcefully, my small hands feeling the heave of his chest underneath my palms as I held him down, his eyes widening as he settled into the back of the couch. His legs were already spread as I let my thighs hug his waist, straddling his cock when my lips finally found his.

There was no precursor to the kissing tonight, nothing playful or slow about it. Our teeth clacked when our lips met, my tongue diving in immediately while my hands tangled in his hair, his dutifully roaming my back, pulling my ass against him so that we both groaned. We rocked against one another for some time, the sounds filling my apartment kind of barbaric as we pawed at each other, playing some kind of twisted game of _who could get who naked first_. Jim won, of course, considering I was really only wearing one article of clothing, but I quickly had him down to nothing but his boxer briefs, his cock already peeking out through the elastic band, which had me moaning against his lips as my thumb brushed over his tip.

I trailed my lips along his jaw, finding his ear with my grazing teeth while his hands roamed up and down my sides, running along the curve of my ass, squeezing me more tightly to him. When I began rubbing him through the cotton of his briefs, feeling his erection pulse at each touch, I squeezed him just a bit harder, loving the way his hips jumped off the couch.

"You've been like this...all night?" I asked, dropping my voice an octave, slowing my strokes to a painful pace, which he tried to accommodate for with fitful jerks that I slowed with my other hand on his hip. He actually whimpered, trying to turn his cheek against mine to kiss me, _anything_ really, but I kept my collect.

His _Mhm_ mimicked what mine had done not minutes before, coming out more like a strangled moan while I pet at his cock softly, letting my nails tease him.

"All night? God, Jim, I'd better...I don't know...do something about this then?"

On the word _this_ , I squeezed with just enough pressure to elicit a strangled sigh, his head rolling back with eyes pinched shut. I took that as my cue.

My lips lit a now familiar path from his throat down to his chest, my tongue darting out to tease his nipple just a little before continuing my descent. His hands were in my hair now, massaging lightly as I worshipped his torso, kissing a line straight to the hair that gathered around his belly button. I let my tongue dip into it before sucking the divet lightly, loving the way his pelvis jumped towards me. When my lips met elastic, I wasted no time in pulling his briefs down to his ankles, reveling in the loud sigh of relief when his cock finally sprang free.

He was red and swollen already, and I knew that he truly wouldn't last very long. I didn't think he much wanted to, either, by the way he was already thrusting into my hand and cupping the back of my head.

When my lips me his head and sucked it lightly, he grunted. I added my hand then, twisting from base to tip while I continued to tease his head with my lips and tongue. His eyes were still closed, head still pointed up towards my ceiling fan as his fingers trickled down my arms, played with my hair, all while he mumbled _Oh my god Pam, that feels so good_. We found a common rhythm, my lips moving downward with each upward thrust of his. I hadn't really vocalized this to him yet, but I _loved_ the way it felt when he would let go, would thrust softly into my mouth. Maybe it was because I could truly see what _I_ was able to do to him with each jerk of his hips. Maybe it was the promise of what would come later. Either way, when I began to moan around his cock and took him deeper, my tongue teasing along his pulsing skin, I knew that was it.

He came loudly, his hips becoming more erratic, though he was always as gentle as he could be. He thrust wildly off the couch, several times as he spilled out, his cries of _Pam, oh, god, so good, baby_ second to the touch that he had on my head.

When I pulled away to look at him, the sight itself could've made me come.

He was sitting on my couch, bare skin down to the socks and boxers tangled around his ankles. His head was still resting on the back of the couch, limp and rolling, his eyes closed with this satiated smile taking up his parted lips. He was coming down from the painful hard-on that he had trudged in with, but he was still standing, leaning slightly to my left, the skin still red and glistening. His hands, numb and working of their own accord, still twitched at my forearms on his thighs, stroking so slightly with the tickling motions of his fingers that I could barely feel it. When he opened his eyes to find me, it was as if the hunger from before had finally switched from his body to mine. I watched the fear turn in his eyes as I climbed into his lap.

He was still coming down, and I knew that; he let me take control, devouring his lips, sucking and licking and letting my tongue venture over his while my hands blazed trails over his chest. Eventually, his respite was over, and in my state of clothless-ness, he finally began to attend to the raging desire that was burning with me like a wildfire. His thumbs took each of my nipples between them, squeezing tightly, pushing my breasts together as I let foreign sounds vibrate against his lips. It wasn't until I was finally astride his lap, wetness anew, that we realized what was happening.

We'd been naked together by this point, sure, absolutely. But when I was finally straddling him again, both of us completely without clothes, him half-hard pushing against my slick center, we stopped simultaneously, my hands resting on his shoulders as our eyes met.

I wasn't ready, not yet anyway, but when I scooted back to look at him, the feeling of him still coming down and rubbing against me was almost too much. We'd gotten used to communicating with our eyes, and the look I gave him still shined shy. But his glance, the touch of his hands stroking my hair, was reassuring. _We won't take this any farther than you want to._

When I lowered my lips to his this time, it wasn't crazy and primal and animalistic. It was passionate, slow and fevered and wet and long, his tongue taking control as it darted in and out. His hands held me, so strong and soothing against my back, while mine remained on his shoulders for leverage. He began teasing me then, peppering kisses and pulling away, making me chase him in a way that had me almost painfully taut before I started moving against him.

It was different than when he'd done it with our underwear still on, way less friction, but heightened sensations all the same. He was still slick from his own orgasm, now completely wet by me sitting atop him; if I wasn't on the pill, I'd have been a little more worried. But the feeling of him, actually hardening again beneath me, skin on skin, had a moan ripping through my lungs. I pushed myself forward onto him, hearing the wet sounds that accompanied my quick movements, feeling him slide beneath me as I felt my own orgasm building. When I went too far backward, his tip hinting at the end of my slit, I bit down on my bottom lip.

His hands were at my ass, gripping hard as he felt me growing closer, my pants loud and whiny in his ear as I gripped onto his neck and buried my parted lips at his throat. He began thrusting then, his cock sliding slippery beneath me, so he held us closer together. When his lips found my ear, peppering kisses there in between each word of _That's it baby, so good, Pam, so good_ , I absolutely lost it. The fire that ripped through me was close to deafening every other sense in my body as wetness poured from me onto him, my body moving quicker than I thought possible with Jim taking over because I was eventually too limp to do so. With each thrust against me, he was grunting, _hardening_ if possible, and each of his movements was met with a little _Ahh_ from me, though at this point I wasn't in control of my own reactions.

Eventually, he was slowing his thrusts, but by the way I could feel him swelling _literally_ against me, he should have been doing the opposite.

In my state of numbness, I somehow reached between us, my hand wrapping around him limply, my hips jutting against us at the feel of how wet he was. He stilled me when I tried moving my hand up and down, pulling my head from where it still lay on his shoulder so I would look him in the eyes. His own eyes spoke volumes, of lust and love and passion and _Oh my god._ I didn't even blink when he shifted us, slowly again, so that I was laying down and he was hovering above me.

When he pushed us against each other again, skin on skin, I somehow mustered a moan to match his, reaching up to find his shoulders, _something_ to hold onto. His eyes met mine again, so soft and gentle, asking once again if this was okay. I somehow managed a nod, feeling tingles coursing through me, feeling being restored, as I drew my knees up on either side of him, pleading with my eyes for him to continue.

He began moving, slowly at first, not as hard as he'd been earlier, but plenty still. It was a different sensation this time, as his head was towards the top, nudging my clit each time he thrust between us. I thought for sure that I was spent, but the quicker he moved, the more I felt myself building up again. He buried his lips in the crook of my neck, moving them languidly with each thrust between us. His thrusts became more insistent, the _Ahh_ _'_ _s_ ringing in my ear making me squeeze my thighs harder against him. He must have felt me meeting him thrust for thrust, heard the way my own sighs were coming more quickly now, because his lips were at my ear, his fingers hovering between us as he said, "Can you come again?" I nodded, my head in his chest as his fingers became more insistent, but no sooner were his fingers between us than I was pushing them away.

He looked at me confused, but I just pulled him down for another searing kiss, my hands at his back, urging him to finish. When he closed his eyes, his erection hot as he brushed rapidly between us, the sensation of him coming between us almost drowned out the way my name was hot on his lips. He began to slow down, to replace his fingers against me, but I had other plans.

My hands replaced his, wrapping his slick cock in my fingers and nudging his still sensitive tip to my clit. I cried out the first time, as he was groaning into my neck, but he understood why I'd taken his hand away. He took matters into his own hand, so to speak, and with one hand wrapped around himself, he began pushing against me more insistently, his tip hitting my clip each time, causing my apartment to fill with groans. When I reached down to add my own fingers to the mix, I thought he might spontaneously come again.

It was less intense than the first time, but I was still left like a pool of jello on the couch, writhing beneath him as he covered the column of my neck in kisses

I don't even remember how I made it to bed that night, but eventually, I had my hair down, his t-shirt back covering me, with Jim wrapped around be from behind as our breathing eventually evened itself out. Sometime later, after I'd dozed off for a bit, I awoke to him lying above me, propped up on an elbow, a look of pure terror in his eyes as his fingers stroked lovingly along my cheek.

"Hey," I whispered, my voice still thick with sleep, eyebrows knitting together in concern. "What's wrong?"

He hesitated with his answer, lips parting and coming together several times before finally speaking.

"I...just...I did _not_ mean to take it that far tonight, Pam. I'm….god, I'm sor-"

"Do not say sorry," I cut him off, a chuckle lacing my words as I sat up more fully. He cocked his eyebrow when my lips curled up.

"But I-"

"Jim, baby, _nothing_ about that happened because you forced it to. I'd almost say that _I_ kind of egged it on."

Still eying me curiously, he continued.

"I know but...Pam, I just...I want you to feel comfortable and...you said slow, so...I just don't want you to think that I'm…"

I dragged him down to me, my lips soft and reassuring against his that were still hesitant.

"Hey," I murmured against him, my eyes still closed as we pulled apart. "You are...Jim, you're so, _so_ good to me. You've been patient and attending and...just _amazing_. Please don't think that you're doing anything wrong here, okay?"

I pecked my lips against his once more, my fingers gripping his hair. When I opened my eyes, he was more relaxed, still questioning me with his lingering, _You sure?_

I giggled then, snuggling against his chest, kissing just above his heart and wrapping my legs around him. He pulled me securely to him, his strong arms feeling like home.


	10. Chapter 10

**The One Where They Have Sex Pt. 1**

Of three things, I was absolutely certain.

Michael Scott was a complete and utter lunatic.

Despite a divisional title, the Phillies were _not_ going to win the World Series this year.

And I was not about the have sex with Pam Beesly for the first time in the backseat of my car in a parking lot at Taco Bell.

She would argue later that it was my fault, that apparently I had been "watching her while she ate her Quesarito" and "got that look in my eyes," which is entirely false, because as much as I _love_ fake Mexican cuisine, it does _not_ turn me on.

No. This was _all_ her.

My cheeky girlfriend, bless her heart, is downright insatiable, like, ninety-nine percent of the time. Seriously. You'd never know it by watching our little documentary, or even by knowing her personally, but she's...I'm so sorry, because I hate using this language, but she's always so goddamn _horny_. We barely make it through the door most nights before she's got her hands on me. Half the time, she starts it in the car. She shoots me these looks while we're at work that she _also_ uses while I'm hovering above her with next to no clothing on, which isn't the worst thing in the world, because it traps me at my desk long enough to force me to do actual work. But honestly? I'm pretty sure she's doing it on purpose.

You'd never know it by the silly little rule that she put in place that said _Jim, we're going to take things slow_ , either.

Yeah. She creatively left out the subtext of * _But I'm going to make it torturous while it lasts._

Still, I would have signed on the dotted lines regardless.

Anyway.

On a Friday night of watching movies and lounging around and being slugs, her stomach let out a hungry growl under where my head was laying, and apparently the only thing the beast wanted was Taco Bell. At 1 in the morning.

And in one form or another, our box of Taco Bell was thrown haphazardly into my back seat, her lips tasting like cheese and her tongue spicy as it pushed past my lips.

Eventually, with our mouths spicy and burning, she somehow dragged my lanky body into the backseat (super difficult to do in a Saab, by the way, in case anyone was thinking of attempting it-Pro Tip: Don't), relocated our food (that was still only half eaten), and found her way into my lap.

I'm still sticking to my guns that it was all her fault, but will also not argue with what was happening, just so we're clear.

Her hands were quick moving, sliding behind my neck and up along my cheeks and up and over my chest, never in one place long enough for me truly appreciate their presence, which was actually driving me crazy. My arousal seemed to kickstart immediately while we sloppily made out like a pair of teenagers. Her breath was hot on my lips as her pajama-bottom-clad body rocked back and forth in my lap, my hard-on not at all masked by the basketball shorts I had thrown on before we left.

I let her take control early on, my fingers only gently tracing up her spine and back, tickling her sides, cradling her cheeks while our tongues lapped lazily at one another. She didn't seem to be as aware of our surroundings with the way that her thighs gripped my hip bones and her teeth continued to sink into the skin below my ear. Her fingers fumbling for my waistband finally shook me awake, as I moved my own hand to cover her small one, fully intent on stopping her to continue these shenanigans back at her place instead of, you know, in a Dickson City Taco Bell.

But she quickly dismissed me, her nails lightly skimming underneath my shirt, grazing the skin below my navel, a moan catching in my throat and fluttering my eyes closed as my hips bucked upward. Before I knew what was happening, I was heavy in her hand, the elastic band of my shorts pulled down past my balls, sighing into her kisses as she worked me fully hard and continued to grind on my thigh. The way my shorts were bunched had her wet against the skin of my thigh, and as she pulled my bottom lip between her teeth, I shifted her petite body into the air, pulling her panties down down as far as they would go before we pulled our bodies together.

We were slick with sweat, hands moving so intensely that it was like a flurry of limbs scrambling in the small cabin of my car. My lips found her collarbone through her t-shirt, tongue making cotton wet, while my hands maneuvered to the small of her back to push us closer together, wetness now soaking my erection as we slid against one another. Her fingers threaded through my hair and pushed at my shoulders as tiny moans bit at my ears, her body slipping up and down against me. I could feel her growing close, recognizing the erratic nature of her body as I felt her push herself higher with each thrust. But as she was right on the edge, her body coming down harder and harder each time, I felt my tip slip _just_ a little bit too far, entering her so subtly that I wasn't sure she had noticed. The white hot behind my eyes did, though, and no sooner had my hands been forcing us together than they were pushing her a full foot back on my lap.

The wideness of her eyes told me she knew, and though her hands were covering the stunned expression of her lips, I could picture it anyway.

I saw tears welling in her eyes, just enough to make me pull her back against me, and I tucked her head under my chin, her cheek tight against my chest. She didn't cry, but in our moments of silence, as our breathing settled and our chests stopped heaving, I ran my hand along the back of her sweat-matted hair.

Eventually, I felt the movement of her chin against my chest, propping up to meet my eyes, hers wide and sad and scared. My lips curled sheepishly into a grin before pressing softly into her forehead, my cheek brushing the same spot before either of us spoke.

"Hey," I began, my voice scratchy and all throat.

She bit her lip and her eyes dropped before darting back up for a fleeting second, ultimately resulting in the top of her head burrowing its way into my chest as she let a long, low, _Ughh_ out of her lungs.

I couldn't help but laugh.

She was so good at lightening the mood, honestly.

I wrapped my arms tightly around her while we both began to shake with nervous laughter. When she lifted her head, her eyebrows knit together in embarrassment and apology and frustration, I let out one last chuckle.

"I'm sorry."

"Sorry for what?"

"This is so dumb. I...Jim, we're in the middle of a Taco Bell parking lot."

"See, I wasn't going to say anything, because I was _really_ hoping that our first time could be at Friendly's, but-"

She slapped me in the chest before I could finish my sentence, only ducking to kiss the spot when I exclaimed _Ow_!

She lay her cheek against my chest, the same way she did each night before we went to sleep, her palm flat next to her face.

"Hey," I whispered, "why don't we just head home? It's late, we're both tired. Tomorrow's Saturday anyway. We can sleep in. I'll even make you breakfast."

The way her sigh was so content against my body almost had me pulling us into a slumber right there, but my aching legs thought better of that idea.

Once we were back at her place, and she was wearing nothing but one of my old Eagles t-shirts, I watched her hesitate at her side of the bed, the comforter suspended in her hand. I slid under the covers, reaching for her hand to pull her across the bed to me.

"We'll talk about it tomorrow. Just close your eyes, okay? I love you."

Her _I love you, too_ was a breath against my chest as she slipped off to sleep.

As promised, I woke her with breakfast in bed, a plate of syrupy French toast to accompany her tea. Her good morning smile was still shy, and it took until her plate was clean for her to truly meet my eyes.

I pushed her along with my _So_ , and waited patiently for her to move the dishes to the ground before she folded her legs criss-cross, hugged her pillow against her chest, and finally began to speak.

"I'm so sorry, Jim."

Her words echoed the apology from the night before, and I followed it again with, "Sorry for what?"

"For...God, I don't know. I asked you to be patient with me and you...you've really been nothing _but_ , but I...I'm sorry that I keep...leading you on."

"What do you mean 'leading me on?'" I had to laugh at the irony of the situation, but when her eyes dropped to her lap, I scooted the remaining foot of distance between us, my hands taking hers captive.

"Hey, look at me." My tone was now serious, and when her eyes were finally mine, I continued, "You are doing the _farthest thing_ from leading me on."

"Jim. I literally tried to seduce you in the parking lot of a Taco Bell last night."

I chuckled again. "True, but...Pam, I…"

 _Well, this is harder than I thought_ , I mused, as words began to fail. It was the look in her eyes that pressed me forward, the fear that I hadn't truly seen since Roy Anderson was a major factor in our lives. It was in that moment that I promised myself to never produce that pain in her eyes, the one that made her second-guess herself and feel fear when she should be nothing but safe in my presence.

"Hey. You are not leading me on, okay? I...Pam, I _agreed_ to this." I bit the inside of my cheek at how clinical that sounded, like I should have a lawyer present, and backtracked. "You wanting to take things slow, it...there was no doubt in my mind that I wanted to do this one- _hundred percent_ your way. I...god, Pam, I've wanted to just _be_ with you for so long that...sex is great and all, but I just...I love you _so much_ , okay?"

She was laughing a little, as I tripped over the words that would never adequately express my love for this girl, and gripped her hands in mine maybe a little too tightly, hoping to convey my message with every part of my being. I opened and closed my lips one, two, three times, thanking god that she cut in before the circus could continue.

"I just...I feel like I'm, I don't know, _depriving_ you or something. Like, we keep getting so close, and then I chicken out and...I don't want you to be mad at me-"

" _Mad_? Pam, how could I be _mad_ at you?" It was my turn for downtrodden eyes, willing our bodies closer as my knuckles turned white where they held onto her wrists.

She shrugged, her eyes focused on her lap, her curls wild with sleep and making her look so innocent and childlike that I really wanted nothing more than to cradle her to my body and hug away any doubts that lingered from her past. But we had to talk about this. The days of tickling and hugging and _Pammy, I'm sorry_ were gone. We were mature adults, and I wouldn't let her go until she was absolutely certain that we would always solve whatever was in our path with the truth.

"Because I'm making you wait, and because, I don't know, you're a _guy_ , and guys have _needs_ and…"

Her eyes were saying _Help me_ , and I finally gave in, squeezing her against my side while my lips found the mass of hair above her ears, kissing her there softly before I whispered, "You are fulfilling all of my needs, I promise you." Suddenly, she was shaking against me, her laughter tinged with a bit of sarcasm as she responded with, "Oh, come on, Halpert. You cannot _honestly_ say that you wouldn't rather be having sex with me than dry humping on my couch like teenagers every night."

"Okay, first of all," I started, biting back laughter of my own, "I'm gonna _need_ you to work in the phrase _dry humping like teenagers_ more often, because I truly, truly needed that." She quirked her eyebrows at me, rolling her eyes towards the ceiling before I continued.

"And, okay, _yes_ , I _obviously_ want to have sex with you. I think that's _more_ than evident." My thumb trailed lightly over the inside of her wrist, my eyelids dropping ever so slightly with the tone of my voice as I watched the skin of her neck flush just a touch. "But I'm pretty sure that I'm more than capable of waiting as long as you need to, okay? I...Pam, if we kept...you know, just doing _all of this_ ," I said, motioning around us in a way that I hoped would convey _You know, all the stuff that we do that isn't sex but still blows my mind on a daily basis_ , "I...as long as I'm with you, I...I honest to god don't need anything else."

I wasn't trying to, like, say something cute and corny to get on her good side. Promise. I was just letting my heart talk. Because as great as sex is, I wasn't with Pam to get laid. I'd lay down my life for that girl. I pulled her against me, this time chest to chest, our noses touching in the middle, my lips slow and sensual as they moved across hers just once. When I pulled away, she smiled slightly, her nose brushing against mine as she sought my eyes.

"Except maybe the occasional blow job?"

I knew this was her way of breaking the tension, of deflecting the uncomfortable feelings that were still there, but I couldn't contain my laughter all the same.

" _God_ , Beesly, so _vulgar_. Do you kiss your mother with that mouth?"

"No, but I've made you scream my name with it."

I knew she was just trying to bust my chops, because the laughter in her throat was still edged with nerves. Doing very little pretending with my shocked expression, I pulled her back to me and held her lips to mine with a sloppy wet kiss, hearing it smack as I pulled away. Her eyes were only tentative for a moment this time before she found my waiting expression, courage and determination helping her to sit up a little straighter.

"I just...I mean, I know I already told you all of this but, Roy was…I'm not a _prude_ or anything…"

I really, _really_ wanted to make a crack, but I was so proud of my tongue biting as I let her find her words.

"I've only been with one other person in my life, you know? It's...I'm scared, Jim. I just...I am."

And there it was. With a shrug of her shoulders and a drop of her chin, it was there, finally out in the open. Again, my want to comfort her and pull her in close and whisper reassurances was heavy and insistent, but she needed to do this, needed to take her time and get it all out. So I waited. I ran my thumbs gently over her skin, kept my smile there, and waited for her to speak.

"I know this is just me getting all up in my head but...what if I'm...not what you expected? Like, I've built you up and we finally _get there_ and then it isn't what you thought it would be, and then you start to pull away and we drift further and further apart and...Jim, I can't let that happen. I can't...I can't lose you. I-"

 _That_ was my breaking point, ultimately. The fear in her eyes, in her voice, when the mere thought of losing me over something so trivially _out of this world_ came to light. It was odd, to be truthful, that after all this time, _she_ was terrified of losing _me_ , but it drove me even more.

She was in my lap, wrapped so tightly to me that I almost wanted to apologize for the undeniable bruises that I was pressing into her skin. When I'd gotten my fill, which truly would never be enough, I framed her cheeks with my hands, pulling us apart only enough so that I could speak to her with my eyes, our bodies still pressed together at the forehead.

"You are _not_ going to lose me, Beesly. Do you hear me?" I know that my words were thick with fear, whispered breaths between us, but I kept myself tuned into her as my fingers ran through her hair of their own accord. " _You_ are what matters to me. Hearing your laugh and seeing your smile and just...god, just finally being _with you_ , Pam. I waited so long just to...I'm not going anywhere that you're not."

She was about to cry-from what, I didn't really know-but I didn't want to see it, didn't want that pain and fear and ugly to rear its head between us again, so I pressed our lips together, not caring that she was clinging to my forearms tightly enough to leave nail marks, or that the pressure she was returning on my lips would probably leave a bruise. She needed to know.

"I love you, _so_ so much."

And I hoped the words weren't meaningless.

My lips found her cheeks slowly, kissing every inch from her nose to her ear. Not in a way that I wanted to lead to anything, but in my own selfish way of making sure that every inch of her body knew that it was wholly and truly loved. When I reached her ear, and she was sighing so quietly that I almost missed it, I stopped, not wanting her to think that I was taking advantage of the situation. Deliberately, I distanced our bodies, now touching at the knees as we faced one another, our hands clasped in the middle.

Her _I love you, too, Jim_ was a whisper between us that bridged the intentional gap I'd created, my chest still doing flips each time I heard her say it.

"Thank you for being so patient with me."

My smile was warm as I squeezed her hands in mine.

"No thanks needed. It hasn't been the hardest thing in the world to do, I can tell you that much."

We were both giggling now, a positive sign, I decided.

She took a deep breath, then, "But, as content as I would be to just, you know, _be with you_ forever, I hope your declaration hasn't written sex _completely_ off the table yet, because I _am_ ready."

I raised an eyebrow, my body tingling of its own accord.

"And don't think I'm saying all of this just to please you. I've been ready for a while, actually. I was kind of hoping that I could push you into making a move one night, but because you're the wonderful person that you are, and because you've listened to me, you never did. But I am. Ready, that is."

Her eyes were shy, flicking from her lap back to my eyes, down to my lips and back. The teenager in me (and, okay, the _Jim Halpert who has been in love with Pam Beesly since the moment he saw her_ , too) wanted to quite literally pounce on her. But I held back, settling instead for a chaste kiss, and a reminder to the love of my life that my nephew had a t-ball game in an hour, and that she had planned some exotic "girls' weekend" thing with her mom and sister until Sunday evening.

It was her suggestion to wait until the following weekend, which made a ton of sense, but also not so much. On the one hand, I _knew_ for a fact that once I finally made love to her, I wouldn't be able to stop for at _least_ seventy-two straight hours. So, point in the pros column. It also gave me plenty of time to plan for our night-you know, buy candles and rose petals, vacuum my bedroom and clean the sheets.

In the cons column? I had to go through the workweek with the knowledge of what was to come.

When she made me a paper-link countdown chain on her downtime at work, I almost choked.

We'd agreed to keep our hands off of each other for the most part, too, which had me incredibly tempted to reaquaint myself with my right hand. But I ultimately chose not to. Which was a lot harder than I'd anticipated.

No pun intended.

But in all honesty, I did a _lot_ of running that week.

By Wednesday evening, (I know, a whopping five days, _high five, Jimbo!_ ) I was actually shaking in my desk. I know she saw me abruptly leave the building to take a few laps, but who could blame me, really? We'd been at each other on a nightly basis for _months_ now, and quitting Pam cold turkey when she was five feet from me for eight hours a day was like going through narcotics withdrawal. I had to do _something_.

Video games were no match for my trembling fingers, and when I stood to take a break-to change to go on another run-I accidentally grabbed her shirt from the drawer instead of mine. Her scent itself had me already half hard.

I was halfway out the door with my car keys in hand, only one shoe on, before I ran into a body that was a foot shorter than my own. She glanced up at the same moment that I glanced down.

"Couldn't wait?" I managed, my body already pulsing from the minimal contact of simply bumping into her.

"Uh uh."

And then, her hands were on my shoulders, pushing herself up until her legs were wrapped around my waist, my hands instantly supporting her ass as I kicked the door shut with a bang.

I wouldn't exactly call what we were doing "kissing" because our lips and tongues were all over the place, making up for the time we'd so _stupidly_ wasted that week. She was nipping at my bottom lip when I stumbled back to the living room, fully intent on following the familiar path with her to my bed, when one hand was suddenly down the back of my pants and covering my ass, the other squeezing the bulge in my pants, and I was dropping us to the floor.

I was down on all fours, her body encapsulated by my limbs, and we took a moment to just stare at one another like animals, her eyes so dark I could see my own reflection if I had been focusing on anything but her. In seconds, my lips found hers again, and her legs were wrapped so tightly around me, her ankles crossing at the small of my back. As my tongue thrust into her mouth, my fingers pulled roughly at the hem of her shirt that came off almost as easily as my pants did when she began to fumble with the buttons. It quickly became a race of ripping at clothing, but once we were there, once I was laying on top of her with my erection throbbing between us, her body writhing against me, everything seemed to slow.

This was Pam, _my_ Pam, whose lips were eagerly suckling the skin of my throat, whose hands were running the length of my back, gripping my ass tightly against her, whose vocal chords were vibrating sounds I had only ever imagined.

And she wanted _me_.

I kissed her lips, her cheek, sucked less than gently on her ear, while her body pulsed against me, her wetness seeping across my skin. My fingers toyed with the soft skin at her sides, pushed her breasts together, pulled at her nipples until my name was at her lips. When my hand began its trek to her clit, she stopped me.

"I don't need it. I've been like this all week."

If I hadn't already been primed, that _certainly_ did me in. I moaned into her kiss, my right hand finding her slit anyway, just to see how ready for me she was. She shuddered when my fingers soaked her up, then wrapped around myself, pumping up and down a few times with her juices before I began to run the head of my cock up and down her slit. I only nudged her clit once before she was almost crying, "Jim, baby, _please_ ," her fingers finding my head and pulling me to her. Before she helped me inside, I pulled away, just enough to get her to see me. My hands, so focused on bringing us together, found her face, cradling her cheeks, stroking her soft skin with my thumbs as my gaze went from her lips to her eyes and back.

Despite all of the ways that this would make us feel good, the overpowering sense of showing her my love physically, of _being with her for_ the first time, was monumentally overwhelming. She saw it, too, the way that her eyes changed from primal to sensual, the way that she was covering my face and pulling me down for a kiss that was less animalistic and more _passion_ and _love_. My lips touched her forehead, her nose, her lips one more time.

"Are you sure about this?"

It was probably _the_ dumbest question that had ever uttered past my lips, but it happened anyway. Because I wanted to be sure.

And her squirming and squealing and the touch of her fingers around my dick again were all reassuring, but she knew I needed to hear her say it.

That _yes_ was the last of her coherent words besides the _I love you's_ that we passed simultaneously before I finally edged myself inside of her.

My eyes closed of their own accord as she seemed to pull me in, so tight and hot and slick and ready for me that my head was spinning. She pulled me in to the hilt, my lips finding her throat as we both moaned against one another. It wasn't long before her heels were at the small of my back, her body squirming beneath me. I began to move, slowly at first, wanting to memorize the feel of myself sliding in and out of her, but the pulsing in my balls after almost a week of no attention told me that this wasn't going to last very long at all.

But, then again, so was the way that Pam was grinding herself against me, gripping at the back of my neck, letting, _Oh fuck_ , and _Yes_ , and _Jim, faster_ tickle my ears. As I began to pump more quickly, she reached up for one of my hands and brought it between us, pushing on top of my fingers as I sought her clit. I closed my eyes, willing these sensations to cement into my brain: the pull of her walls as I moved in and out, the push of her fingers at the backs of mine to set the pace she needed, her breath hot on my neck. But as I moved within her, as her body quaked beneath me, as her walls seemed to be milking me of my existence, I began to see white.

I stopped moving, wanting, _needing_ her to come first, and focused all of the energy I had on the way that my fingers were moving. When the familiar feel of her spasms-usually around my fingers and tongue, but now around my cock-began to grow, I switched from my fingers to my thumb, my strokes short and quick as I pumped myself within her once again. Her _Oh's_ grew louder, and I positioned myself above her to watch her eyes as she began to come around me, her whole body glowing as she shuddered, her hands clenching my back like she was holding on for dear life.

It wasn't long before my own orgasm began to take over, my lips going slack against hers as I let myself go, my thrusts becoming erratic as her quaking walls pulled cries from my throat, somehow remembering how to form her name as I came inside of her. My body continued thrusting within her of its own accord, slowing down gradually, wet sounds muffled between our bodies. When I finally collapsed on top of her, our foreheads pasted together with sweat, the only sounds in my living room were the loud pants that were tripping and racing out of our lungs, until her laughter vibrated against my throat. It took me a moment to follow her gaze to the clock on my cable box.

The white LED had read 6:54 when I was getting ready to go on a run.

Now, it blinked 7:03.

My lips split into a grin, sharing in the laughter that was echoing between us as she pulled my head to her chest. Once our bodies stopped shaking, I scooted so that, rather than crushing her, I was propped next to her, still skin to skin, tracing circles on her stomach.

"So, uhm... _that_ happened."

I smiled, humming low as my lips upturned.

"Mmm, that it did. I guess I should've warned you that I've been ready to go since you left here on Saturday."

" _You_? What about _me_?" she guffawed. "Jim, I brought a change of panties to work yesterday."

The way she was stark serious as those loaded words tumbled out of her had my spent cock twitching against her thigh, if only for a moment.

"I guess it's safe to say that we're both kind of pathetic then, huh?"

"Only a little bit." She reached her hand to cup my cheek, meeting me halfway for a lazy round of kissing. It was only when our bodies were finally turning towards one another, breathing becoming labored with moans, that her fingers began to trace a path down my chest.

"Redo?"


	11. Chapter 11

**The One Where They Have Sex Pt. 2**

I've never done drugs, despite dating Roy Anderson for most of my formative high school and college years. So, along those same lines, I've never truly had an _addiction_ to anything, never felt my body craving for something, pulling me in a direction beyond my control.

But after having Jim, _truly having Jim,_ my body was working of its own accord, the desire to have him _now_ and _here_ and _again_ and _forever_ suddenly overwhelming my every nerve ending, submerging every other motivation in my body to make _this_ my life's priority.

I'd say I was working myself back up, but I don't think I ever truly came down. Our lips were moving aimlessly, without cause, wet and hot and sliding with no direction or purpose, when my hands were at the naked skin of his hips, where I could already feel his weight against my thigh, and the sigh that I breathed against his lips was

All it took for me to wind my arms around her waist, pick us both off the floor, and somehow manage the short distance from _the floor between the couch and the coffee table_ to _actually in my bed._ When her ankles crossed immediately at the small of my back, bringing our lower halves, still warm and slick and naked and beginning to pulse again, flush together, I was grateful for her lips that were already enclosed around my own, because if that weren't the case, the guttural sound that had my hands holding her tighter still against me might have forced my neighbors to call animal control.

But the way she was shimmying against my body, pushing her feet up against my back as if trying to climb into me or somehow bring our bodies impossibly closer reminded me of the way that we had thrown each other down not ten minutes ago, refusing to take our time, our need for each other shadowing absolutely everything in its wake. My legs, light and gliding across the carpet, halted, suddenly heavy under the weight of us both. Her lips pulled from mine, a soft popping sound, the skin there sticking together as if reluctant to let go, as she distanced herself only enough so that our eyes would meet in all of their haziness. As our noses touched, her hands scooting from their vice grip behind my head to rest symmetrically on my shoulders, I adjusted her weight atop just one of my forearms, so that my now free hand could brush the slick bangs back from her forehead, follow the curve of her cheek, palm the side of her face entirely.

It was there that we stood, our heavy breaths the only sound in the otherwise still apartment as we just... _stared_. Our eyes, glued, but ticking slowly as they blinked, searched, longed. I could feel the sweat bead down her back to the crease where my arm was holding her skin, felt it run between us, slide to the crook of my wrist. When I pulled her lips to me, soft and long and slow, it was a

Promise of what was to come. It was as if his demeanor, the charge in the air, had switched on a dime. The way he carried me so gingerly now, the way his eyes had no other focus but my own, his hands gentle and soft and yet clinging still, had me both swelling in my heart but wildly apprehensive with a need to know what was coming next. I wanted so badly to continue our frantic moves, the thrashing and fitfullness that had propelled us together. But his eyes told a different story, one that I needed to let him write.

My back hit the bed so softly, I had to wonder if there was even a solid surface beneath me. But I felt the mattress give on either side of my head as his forearms came to rest there, the rest of his body slinking from ankles to chest in one fluid motion against me, his skin warm but cold, and just a little bit sticky from where sweat had slid and cooled again. When he was firm and solid and warm on top of me, my hands immediately lay flat on his chest, tickling up and down, finding his shoulders and the back of his neck and tangling again in the soft tufts of hair above his heart. Our eyes remained trained upon one another.

His hands were oddly stagnant, so hesitant, reminiscent of our first few nights getting to know each other, when he was afraid that he would push me too far and would wait for me to tell him that he could touch me before doing much more than playing with the ends of my hair. But all too suddenly, his eyes were incredibly clear, the fog gone, a bright forest green taking over my field of vision before his lips were all I could focus on.

She tasted of Sweet Tarts, and it was the first time that night that I noticed the overwhelming tingle on my taste buds of biting sugar and artificial grape as my tongue glided softly across hers. I wanted to savor this, to take my time, and despite the way that her toes were skimming up and down my calves, knowing she wanted to guide them up and around my waist again, I had to do this. Had to show her exactly what this night, what these moments, meant to me. Had to show her just how much love every ounce of my body held for her.

Though the sensation of her toes was making me shiver, I bypassed all of the parts of my own body that were screaming to just _let her_. I distracted myself by putting her above it all, above my own wants and needs, because the only inherent _need_ to be fulfilled in me was to love each and every part of her with each and every part of me.

He started with this look in his eyes, one that I'd never seen before, and yet, had seen every day since knowing he loved me all those years ago. It was _love_ and _trust_ and an overwhelming _desire_ that had the slightest of nods shifting the pillow beneath my head. And then, his lips began, soft and supple on my own, continuing the trek we'd begun earlier where his lips and my lips were all that seemed to exist. His tongue met my bottom lip, and I parted immediately beneath him, lifting my neck to pull us closer. He took the opportunity to snake one arm beneath my back, stretching its length, ending where his hand tangled in my hair to hold us closer together as

I tickled my other hand down her right side, my fingers peppering a soft trail that had sighs breathing from her mouth to mine. As my lips moved against hers, I felt her body jerking ever so slightly into my bare skin. Each time a little noise would form in her throat, she tried to get closer, her fingers grasping a little bit tighter, her skin sliding against mine to somehow draw us closer. When I had my fill of her lips, I shifted my kissing to the tip of her nose, her cheek, her forehead, taking my time to map every inch of her face with my lips. With every touch, I could feel her twitch beneath me, her body positively writing when my lips met the juncture beneath her ear and sucking just a little. I felt her knees at my waist, squeezing enough to make me grind down once, to pull the hand against her back a little more tightly, before resuming the map that I was tracing down her body.

By this point, I thought I was totally aware of how wonderful the feel of his lips against my skin felt. But I was dead wrong. It was like my senses were on overdrive, and every pass that his full lips made across my body was wired to somewhere electric. When he sucked at the skin beneath my ear, when he let his teeth graze the side of my neck, I clung to him, my fingers tangling in the soft brown of his hair. His nose was soft as it trailed down the column of my throat, making hot the kisses that he covered that skin with. It wasn't until his tongue began to trace my collarbone that I disturbed the still in the soundwaves, the noise stuck in the back of my throat, but encouraging enough for his own groan to vibrate between my breasts as he continued downward.

His kisses were soft and slow. Not tentative, just taking his time. Which only had my body on a greater high, every square inch of my skin buzzing in anticipation of his lips, underneath his touch, hot and pulsing and a little apprehensive. As his lips began to map the skin of my breasts, the soft popping of his lips meeting and leaving my skin, I let small sighs pass through my parted lips, continuing to massage his scalp with my fingers, my other hand passing aimlessly up and down his spine. My nails bit at his skin in the same moment that

My lips closed around a nipple, and I saw nothing but white hot run behind my closed lids. Usually, I loved to hear her moan my name and shout obscenities into my ears and hear unintelligible sounds reverberate off the walls of one of our apartments, but tonight, her sighs were soft, her moans only vibrations into my skin, the way she said my name barely a whisper that was painted against my throat as her fingers clung to me. I sucked, softly at first, adding more pressure as I felt her response against my bare leg, her toes sneaking behind my knee. She was salty on my tongue as I teased her gently, loving the way that, after all we'd been through, it still took the faintest touch to make her body squirm, thrust into my mouth with a force that

Had him shoving me backwards, the gap between my back and his sheets gone as quickly as his lips closed more forcefully around my nipple, his tongue flicking more insistently back and forth, the grip of my fingers in his hair tightening as I buried my lips on top of his head, not wanting to ruin this ambience we'd set, this quiet little bubble of small sounds. He switched his attention, lavishing my other breast with lips that were swollen. His tongue skirted across my abdomen then, leaving intermittent kisses in his wake. He didn't need to continue any lower, because I was ready for him ages ago, but I let him, surprised when he was suddenly at the very end of the mattress, my foot cradled in his hand as his lips met my ankle, my shin, the back of my knee when he hoisted my leg over his shoulder. It was so intimate, this unspoken sense of worship that he was bowing over my body with, his hands and mouth treating me like an alter.

When he reached the inside of my thigh, I was ready to sigh out in relief, to have some sort of release in the insistent pressure, but that was thwarted when he began a similar fashion up my other leg, starting at my ankle again, his tongue tracing bone,

Licking at her soft skin, memorizing every inch of her as I catalogued every second of this process. We'd been together plenty, but this newness turned me on to a whole different side of Pam. The sighs that she emitted when my tongue found the crease behind her knee were so different than the noises she made when my fingers tickled along the backs of her thighs. It was like I'd missed pages, entire chapters on the epic saga that was Pleasing Pam Beesly, and tonight, I was only just getting started. I wanted to know every inch of her, every different way I could make her sigh and moan and come. But when my lips inched toward her center for the third time, I could tell she was growing restless, that her need was about to overcome mine. Before I closed my lips over her though, I met her eyes. The look she gave me reminded me that we had forever to figure it all out. The bite in her lip was desperation and this innate _want_ for me to please her, so I gave in.

But then again, when it came to Pam, I always did, didn't I?

Her taste was so much different now, but sweet and _Pam_ all the same. She was so slick and warm, her lips pulsing under mine, her body moving against me to show me the rhythm she needed. Her fingers in my hair, usually firm and kind of insistently grabby when she was close, were abnormally gentle, guiding, just there to hold me close. Her thighs mirrored her gentleness, definitely there, pressing into both of my ears, but not rough by any means, just reminders that she was _everywhere_. As my tongue lapped at her, the remnants from our earlier lovemaking salty on my tongue, the heel of her hand guided me up, and my lips closed firmly around her, my thumbs running symmetrically along the creases of her thighs. I looked up from where I sat between her legs, my lips and tongue continuing to work her mad as I glanced up at her gorgeous body. Her skin was shining with sweat, her arms tangled around me, her curls splayed across her pillow and mine, her head tilted back with her lips parted and upturned.

God, was she perfect.

She was close, so close,

But I wanted him. _God_ did I just want _him_. I pulled him off of me, hearing the soft _pop_ of his lips, so swollen and shiny when he looked up at me, his mouth poised in an "o" shape. With my fingers under his chin, I pulled him to my lips, tasting me and him and everything in between when I drove my tongue past his lips. I felt him heavy against my stomach before my fingers wrapped fully around him. Feeling him thrust into my touch, set a pace while we kissed fervently, had me wrapping my legs around him as I had earlier. I wanted so badly to flip him onto his back, to take control, but I knew from his touch, from his kisses, from the look in his eye how much he needed it to be this way, to tuck his lips into the crook of my neck and run his hands hot along my sides and grip onto my waste as I worked him in my hand. I slowed, just enough to bring him to me, to guide him back and forth along me enough to make us both sigh audibly, before his large hand was covering mine, and his head was pushing into me.

It was different this time. _Definitely_ different. For one, we weren't on the floor in my living room, pushing into each other like animals. Although, there would definitely be a time and a place for that later. But this time, I gave myself the time to go slow, to feel every inch of her as she surrounded me. It was slow, this sweet torture of moving inside of her as far as she would take me, that had this sly grin stretching across my face, touching her smile with mine, the side of her face small in my large palm, as we finally reached what we were both so patiently impatiently waiting for. I felt myself hit bottom, felt her hips jerk just a little bit, so I pulled away, steadied her with my other hand, peppered her lips with quick, short kisses as I held us there. Her thigh brushed the outside of my hips as she raised her feet to drag through the hair of my shin, to cross behind my knees, her indication that she needed me to start moving.

I lifted myself up on my forearm, only enough to touch our noses, to see her eyes as they swelled and closed and fought to stay open as I moved within her. I was slow, deliberately, wanting to savor the feeling of her pulling me in, sliding against me. It was glorious, wet and warm, the feel of her tightness surrounding me almost blinding. I touched my lips to hers, sweetly, softly, my hand anchoring to her hip as she

Began to meet his pace. It was slow, but not agonizing. It was loving, and to feel him full and hard inside of me like this was just...everything I could have ever wanted and more. I grasped his cheek in my palm, trying my hardest to keep my eyes opened as he gazed down at me, his smile stretching across his face, gathering my lips in his. I knew he wanted this to last, but truthfully, I was on edge before we even started kissing again back on his living room floor. So as he moved himself in and out, angling so his hips were rubbing me in just the most _perfect_ way, I really had no choice but to push my forehead into his and hold on for the ride.

I knew she was close, and while I was hoping that this feeling would last _forever_ , I was secretly grateful, because I wasn't going to last much longer as it was anyway. I pushed the hair from her forehead, smiling as I layered the skin there with fat kisses, ultimately resting my lips in the crook of her neck. My thumb traced circles on her clit, but by the way she had already been pulsing, it wasn't too long before she was fluttering around me, her hips popping off my mattress with each thrust. It was so incredible, her walls pulsing and hot around me as I continued to push myself inside her, wetness all around, making my thrusts slick and a little noisy. The feeling of her riding out her own waves with me still pumping inside of her was incomparable to any feeling in the world. It was enough to push me into my own, and

then his body began to tighten inside of me, the feeling of his skin slick and sliding a bit more quickly, the tenseness constricting in his fingers around my chin, had my grin splitting, my body warming as he filled me with his own orgasm. His lips were at my ears, kissing and sighing and murmuring my name and _I love you_ and just breathing and existing against me.

The sounds of his bedroom consisted of the whir of his fan on medium, his breathing, and mine. The light scratching of my nails against his spine. Then, there was the shift of his legs against the comforter, a grunt as he tried to adjust us without removing his body from mine. A peeling sound, his arms coming away from my body. A light _thud_ as the comforter landed on top of him. A hum from his throat. The light _pop_ of his lips on mine.

"Hey." His voice was scratchy and low. My favorite sounds.

"Hi." Her voice was shiny and bright and the epitome of joy. My favorite.

I had her face in my hands, her smile disappearing somewhere behind my palm as she turned her head to kiss it. My fingers were curling against her skin; I didn't want to stop touching her, ever.

There weren't words for this moment, with his body heavy and lazy on top of mine, our foreheads touching every time our stomachs inflated with air, my nails skimming his back, sneaking around to rake through the hair on his chest. He leaned forward to bring our lips together, the soft sounds of our skin moving together, kisses blending into one another, adding to the soundtrack. Until, that is,

Her stomach decided to have its own guitar solo. It was so perfectly _us_ that I couldn't help but grin against her lips, pull her closer to me though she was trying to back away.

"And here, I thought I'd done at _least_ a little bit to quell your hunger."

" _Oh_ my _god_ , Jim Halpert! You are _terrible_!"

But he wasn't. Even though I stopped scratching his chest to slap it. Playfully, at that, but still.

He kissed me sloppily against my forehead, yanking me up by the wrists. It struck me then, with both feet planted firmly on his carpet, that we were both naked, and regardless of the fact that we had just spent the better part of an hour ravishing each other's naked bodies, I was still flushing bright red.

It was so cute, the way she was wrapping her arms around her chest, trying to cover the very same body that was just writing against me not moments ago. But I'd already teased her enough for her growling stomach. Without a word, without letting her wrist go from where I was holding her, I reached into my bottom drawer full of t-shirts and pulled it over the top of her head, grinning when her curls bounced after being pulled through the collar. I ran my hands over the hair there, down the side of her face, pulling her up on her tiptoes to kiss me before leading her by the hand to my kitchen.

I'd never made grilled cheese this way before. That is, to say, I've definitely done it on a George Foreman Grill. But not with his hands wrapped around my waist, kisses on the back of my neck, lips sucking the butter off my fingers while we waited the five minutes for our sandwiches to be done. No real words were exchanged, just giggles and smiles and happy breaths, if that was even a thing. He had me backed against his kitchen counter, his thigh between my legs, but not before the timer was going off, and my stomach was incredibly persistent that it did _not_ want charred sandwiches for dinner.

Still, he kept his hands around my waist as I scraped the perfectly browned bread from the grill. Kissed my neck as I poured two tall glasses of water. Hugged me close, my back pressed against his front, while I carried our plate to his bedroom. I sat in his lap while we ate, the kisses on the back of my neck now a little rough with hints of lingering crumbs. It wasn't long before the plate was empty, my stomach and heart both so full, and I was turning around

To straddle my lap. We'd barely spoken in almost two hours, our smiles and bodies doing the talking for us. So, even though my girlfriend, my wonderful girlfriend, was in my lap wearing only my college intramurals basketball shirt and nothing more, I had to stop her before her lips touched mine, because that look in her eyes told me that after a quick refuel, this was going to get hot and heavy soon. With her hands poised on my shoulders, I covered them, brought them to my lips, kissed the knuckles on both of her hands before finding her lips for a slow, soft kiss.

Her eyes were searching mine, wandering from my eyebrows down my nose to my lips and back before my poised lips finally formed words.

"Hey, I just...I know we don't...we don't really need to, like, _say_ anything here but...Pam, I love you, so much, and I just…"

I shook my head, stroking her cheeks with my thumbs, searching her eyes with mine as I felt her scooch closer on my lap. Not to push my words away, or stop the conversation, or get us going on round three. Just to be closer. Her lips were soft, loving against mine, sticking to me when she pulled away with a smile in her eyes.

"I love you so much, Jim."

Her fingers toying with the hair by my ears, the smile on her face, the love in her eyes, was it for me.

Well, that, and her _basically_ naked in my lap.

It was going to be a long next two days in the office, that was for damn sure.


	12. Chapter 12

**The One That's with the Honeymoon Stage Pt. 1**

The night itself was a sleepless riot. She didn't need to do much to climb into his lap aside from lifting her body up and against him, her tongue and her hips doing the majority of the work to get him going again. She didn't have much experience being on top, mainly because Roy said it _hurt his manhood_ and _made him feel like a chick,_ regardless of her constant insistence that it was better for the both of them. Would make her feel good, too. So when one of Jim's hands was lifting her bottom while the other guided him to her, she was hesitant at first, pushing him away while she concentrated all of her focus on kissing him, on exploring his mouth with her tongue, making him sigh when she found the right spot on his throat with her lips, pushed their bodies against each other.

But he was Jim, and he was warm and kind and patient. When she ducked her head in avoidance, his fingers were under her chin, his eyes shining and reassuring as he positioned himself under her. He stayed upright with her sitting in his lap, easing her into the process that began so timidly until he was touching her, whispering encouragement into her ears, giving her the confidence to trust him and her own body as they rocked together.

She laughed against him when they finished, the sensations of this position distant from her teenage days of exploration that ended quickly, but a wonderful surprise that actually had her overstimulated and pushing away from him in a fit of laughter and moans. He settled on top of her, lazy, sloppy kisses turning into heavy petting, lips and tongues on each other, with grabby hands taking root elsewhere when she as still yet too sensitive.

In between small bouts of sleep, it was Pam waking him with her bottom rubbing his front, her arm twisting behind her to hold his neck as he awoke, ready to slide into her. Then, nodding between dreams, she stirred awake to Jim's mouth on her chest, his hands on her thighs, and him hard on her stomach. That time was quick, waking _with_ need and _to_ his need had a high volume of noises sifting through the walls of his bedroom, no doubt annoying the other inhabitants of the building.

They awoke more fully together, before the alarm, with the streaming of sunlight peeling eyes back, hands seeming to resume unsystematic journeys on skin that was now sticky and chilled to the touch. Their kisses were lazy, with long pauses in between as they pushed back the sleep that their bodies whined for in favor of touch.

Morning love making was slow, easy, dreamlike, their senses heightened much like the night before. When her fingers wrapped around him, already half hard, he could feel the line of every print on her fingers as they blended together in upward motions. When his mouth found her, she could picture the image that his tongue was painting, see the colors it would make and the different swirls that formed shapes and patterns. She thought she would paint her favorite pattern, give it to him as a gift, see if he got the hint. Or, if not, hang it above her bed as her own little secret. When he moved inside her, he was slow and unhurried, like they had all the time in the world. She could count the lashes on his lids, if her focus wasn't preoccupied with the push and pull of their bodies, the way his fingers tickled hotly up and down her sides. The glow of gold in his eyes was smiling at her each time he blinked, though he tried not to, for fear of closing his eyes and missing the sight of her.

The clock blinked _6:37_ when they lay spent with heavy breaths against one another, smiles wide and glistening from all of the kisses. It was the first time they'd spoken words beside each other's names when he finally breathed a scratchy _Hi_ , his nose tracing hers, his fingers running slowly up the length from her elbow to her shoulder and back again. Her _Hi_ was mirrored in everything but tone, hers about an octave higher, still raspy as her fingers splayed aimlessly in the hair on his chest.

They passed giggles, kisses against foreheads and temples and cheeks, fingers roaming without a purpose, before he gathered her ear against his lips, whispered, "The rest of my body is going to scream at me right now, but I think it would be in our best interest to actually sleep a bit before the alarm goes off in...an hour," in a timbre that had her body shivering, subsequently fighting the urge to go against his suggestion and flip him onto his back one more time.

But she agreed, a muttered _Kay_ through grinning teeth as they pulled simultaneously against one another, eyes fluttering closed for a few fleeting moments of a dreamlike state that was incomparable to consciousness.

After nearly twelve hours without clothes, it was a strange sensation to have cotton rubbing against skin, but he complied, for the sole fact that having her pull his trousers over his hips, button him up to the collar, fasten his tie around his neck, was just as sexy as when she was ripping those very same garments off of him. He helped her, likewise, taking his time with the zipper on her skirt, planting chaste kisses wherever he could, doing his best not to ruin her makeup when she playfully scolded him.

He had all but begged for her to join him in the shower, but they both knew what a terrible idea that would be, how walking into work late, damp, and smiling would be an instant give away. It was Thursday, anyway. They were close enough to the weekend, when seventy-two straight hours of nothing but each other awaited.

Regardless still was the glow she had, shining in his eyes all morning, and continuing into the early autumn sunshine as he held the door open for her to enter the building. His own bright eyes reflected in the shine of her skin, her smile. He'd give anything to see her like this for the rest of his days.

It took all of seventeen minutes, seventeen minutes of lip biting and skin flushing and _seriously trying my best!_ to avoid eye contact before her IM window pinged.

 **JIM9334** : How's it going over there, blushy?

 **Receptionitis15** : Oh, the usual. Trying to make it through at least one game of solitaire before my mind wanders again.

His eyes popped, finding her lips curled in silent laughter.

 **JIM9334** : Oh? And where might it be wandering to?

 **JIM9334** : I'm a little concerned here, Beesly. We can't have your mind just, you know, taking a casual stroll around the office.

 **JIM9334** : Who _knows_ what kind of hands it'll wind up in.

 **Receptionitis15** : Well, in the _right_ hands, it might not be so bad.

 **Receptionitis15** : Yours didn't seem to be the worst place for me to end up at four o'clock this morning.

Her giggles continued behind bright red cheeks when she heard him mutter _Jesus Christ_ from ten feet across the bullpen. Silent communication, of raised eyebrows and jutting chins and expressive gazes, consumed most of their morning, between games of minesweeper and maybe, just _maybe_ a sale or two.

His excuses to get up and talk to her were stretching it. After three cups of tea and an empty container of jelly beans, sideways glances from their coworkers were growing more commonplace.

"Black seven on that eight."

His breath hot on her neck, usually just causing a mid-morning chill, had her lips parting at the same instant that her eyes closed, memories of his words at her throat not hours ago creating a stirring low in her stomach that was inherently out of place while she sat in such close proximity to Dwight K. Schrute. He was pressed against the back of her chair, his arm winding around her shoulders to point out the next move she could make in her virtual card game. The wafting scent of strawberry accompanied the way he was chewing softly next to her ear.

Her fingers gripped the computer mouse just a bit tighter.

"Right, but I was going to shift this pile over instead, see?"

She demonstrated her move with the shaky click of the mouse, intentionally shifting her arm along the inside of his as she did, her smile sly when she felt him shiver against her back.

"Bold move, Beesly. Now what are you going to do with that seven?"

"Hold onto it for later, I guess. A little anticipation never killed anyone."

It was then that she quirked her head sideways, winking at his now pale face, relishing in the way he that his adam's apple bobbed in his throat, the way he straightened with a cough, adjusted his tie, returned to his own desk with the shake of his head.

 **JIM9334** : You're going to kill me, you know that?"

 **Receptionitis15** : Oh, but what a sweet way to go ;)

He decided by 10:54 that he had restless leg syndrome. By 11:02, he needed to take a walk, and by 11:37, he had convinced her in not the smoothest of ways to take an early lunch (a breathy, "I'm not going to make it until noon, will you _please_ meet me down by my car in ten minutes?" had her halfway between laughter and sighing).

There wasn't enough time to make it to either of their apartments and back without suspicion, so he settled for finding an alley two blocks over while her fingers were already working him out of his pants. Ironically enough, it wasn't entirely different from their experience in the Taco Bell parking lot. Pam, in his lap, lips and hands moving quickly and fitfully. Though this time, when he slipped inside her, one hand on her hips and the other holding the back of her head as his tongue moved inside her, her only gasp was at the release that had been mounting since they'd dressed one another earlier that morning.

He was trying his best to catalogue each of these moments, to learn something new about her, to make his study in Pam-natomy 101 count, so he could ace the test, so to speak. Like the way that, when she was on top, as she was now, the sensations were almost overwhelming still, and she couldn't concentrate enough to keep their lips moving together, so instead, he'd just hold her, encourage her, swell with pride as her smile split into sighs of laughter, memorizing the way that her eyelids fluttered against his cheeks while she moved against him.

Or last night, when he fell asleep spooning her and woke to that same form wrapped around him backwards, the angle so new, her body contorting in an almost jerky manner to cling to him still when he was wrapped behind her. Her feet latched behind his ankle, her arm snaking above his head to cling, hold on tightly as he held her across the stomach. She seemed to enjoy it when he reached up to fondle her breasts, would jerk against him and make these little noises that were stuck somewhere in her throat. But when he was holding her tightly, his large hand splayed across her belly, she held on just a little bit more.

Her cries of release reverberated off the walls of his car, certainly audible to anyone who happened to be within walking distance of the alley, he mused, feeling the ringing in his own ears as he pumped more quickly now, her lips wet on his ears accompanying encouraging words as he came, blissfully so. They were both laughing, warm breath tickling sticky skin as she picked her head up from where it had been buried in his neck, pushing the matted hair from his eyes to see him, cup his cheeks, kiss him like she'd wanted to while he made her feel like she was soaring.

"I have no idea how I'm going to make it through the rest of this week," he whispered against her lips, his fingers saying many other things against the small of her back.

"I'm sure we'll find ways to pass the time," she replied, her eyes still closed, still reeling.

She fixed his hair. He adjusted her skirt. Their smiles were larger than they'd been that morning. Phyllis smiled at Stanley, who rolled his eyes.

It was another twenty minutes before they realized that neither of them had actually eaten lunch.

She'd suggested her place tonight, after stopping by his to make a switch for her car. It was his turn to tease and touch as she drove, but she was more insistent that he stop, less confident in her ability to make it safely across those three point two miles while his hands were on her. He settled for his fingers on her thigh, light touches and teasing that wouldn't have her swerving into oncoming traffic.

His fingers were tangled at the base of her neck, wild curls soft in his hand as she fumbled with the keys, his body already pulsing against her back, his full lips against her throat already murmuring with promise. It was her suggestion to refuel, order for a pizza at least. They'd skipped breakfast, kissed through lunch, and she'd had a handful of jelly beans and a granola bar in the meantime.

It was his suggestion to see how many times he could get her off before the pizza arrived.

Between the time it took for her to call in the order, and the time it took for him to throw on his boxers, answer the door, and deposit the hot pie on the coffee table, he'd gotten to three, almost four.

Once with his fingers, once with his mouth, once with her leg thrust over his shoulder and his lips doing unspeakable things to her throat while he thrust quick and hard.

Four was cut off by the doorbell, and she was in his lap again before he even had the chance to open the lid of the pizza box.

It was _wild_ , he thought, that she was here, sitting in his lap in nothing but his work shirt, with pizza stifling her giggles. They couldn't stop smiling, not through the garlic breath and sauce slipping from her piece onto his thigh because he was trying to eat his pizza while hugging her from behind. Not when his greasy lips found the hollow of her throat, and she was begging him to let her _finish eating first! Please Jim! I'm going to pass out if we go at it one more time on an empty stomach!_ Or when his hands drifted farther south, pushing his shirttails up her thighs where she was bare beneath, murmuring something in her ear along the lines of J _ust eat while I do all the work then. You'll burn the calories while you consume them. It's almost like killing two birds with one stone,_ and really, who could argue with that? Or when she was coming in his hands, the piece of pizza forgotten on the carpet, her afterglow riddled with, _You're going to refund me the money I lose on my security deposit when they can't get that stain out of the carpet, Jim Halpert._ If that was the price to pay, he'd gladly work the overtime.

But they took it slow, moderately at least for the night, getting acquainted with her bed mostly, and the feel of _her_ sheets against their skin, the way it felt to hold her against his side and kiss trails from her chin to her abdomen and back again. The newness of her beneath him, her hair splayed on floral print, her body curling against purple cotton instead of his plaid sheets, made his belly tingle in a new sense of warmth as he whispered love, love, _love_ into her ears. His name seemed to bounce off her tongue, off these walls, in a whole different sense.

He had a list longer than a five year old's at Christmas of things he wanted to try that would make her feel good, and he was all but waiting for her signal to blow through the whole thing in one night. But the way her eyes were half lidded more in exhaustion than pleasure had him simply holding her, his fingers lazy and warm and soothing as her eyes closed against his skin just barely after midnight.

He thought his body was too wired, still pulsing and wanting, to sleep, but when her breathing was heavy against his chest, little puffs of air cooling his skin every so often, he succumbed quickly too, his mind needing a brief respite if he was going to be able to concentrate for the next 9 hours of the Friday at Dunder Mifflin that stood between him and blissful heaven with the love of his life.


	13. Chapter 13

**The One with the Honeymoon Stage Pt. 2**

Fridays at the office were a coin toss that either had them watching paint dry in an effort to get to the weekend faster, or so swamped with deadlines that Michael had _conveniently forgotten about_ that ties were loosened and, on occasion, the air conditioning was cranked while the employees of Dunder Mifflin worked frantically to save their boss's ass. Both Jim and Pam were oddly content with the fact that today so happened to be the latter. After a morning of heated kisses and snoozing the alarm too many times, they'd rushed into work right at the buzzer, in an unsatisfied panic that had their skin tinged pink long after they'd entered the building to a cool sixty-eight degrees.

Now, with a corporate mishap causing a flurry of paperwork and an endless stream of phone calls buzzing throughout the bullpen, sex was the furthest thing from their minds. Lunch was done at desks for most, bites taken between finished spreadsheets, with only the occasional nod of the head passing as their daily communication.

By the time five-thirty rolled around and one lone IM conversation decided that they'd spend the weekend at Jim's (since they'd spent the last at Pam's), they were too tired to do much more than hold hands on the way across town. It was decided that Jim would drop Pam off at her place to pack a bag; he would head back to his so that he could freshen up a bit and start dinner. She wanted to pack her things and tidy up a bit and get her car, so she'd see him in about an hour. He couldn't wait.

But then, his bedroom was clean and his hair was washed and he'd changed into one of the nice sweaters his mom had bought him before he moved to Stamford. He lit the candles and strained the pasta and put on some music that would set the mood. He plated their dinners. Took the garlic bread out of the warmer. Poured himself a glass of wine.

The clock ticked past seven-thirty and she was nowhere to be found.

He tried her cell three times, and it was only on the fourth _Hi, you've reached Pam Beesly. Please leave a message-_ that he began to worry.

After only one glass of wine, he was feeling fine enough to drive over to her place, trying his best to muffle a yawn as street lights turned on, which helped her apartment building to stand out in its absence of any known light. After fishing his key to her place out of his pocket and foregoing her usual insistence to _take off his shoes_ , he pushed up all the light switches in hopes of shedding some visibility on where she'd gone.

One shoe and a turned over purse were alone at the entryway, he noticed, but that being his only clue, he continued his trace of her small apartment, his heartbeat growing more insistent under the wool of his now tight sweater as he crossed the threshold into her bedroom.

It was so cute, he had to audibly say _aww_.

With one shoe still on, a toothbrush in hand that was now stuck to the bedspread with thick blue paste, she had her mouth hanging open in pure and utter exhaustion, the sweet and sexy little noises he'd become so used to replaced by a faint snore.

She'd be mad about the toothpaste stain in the morning. Why that was his first thought, he would ponder later on.

It took all of his effort, with no light save for the small draft from the bathroom, to do things quietly and carefully. He knew now that she hated sleeping in a bra, and always let her hair down, claiming that sleeping with it still secured by an elastic band gave her headaches in the morning. It was so different than the way he'd been running his fingers through her hair, taking off her clothes, moving her body across a bed, as of late. In a way, this was so much more intimate than the past twenty-four hours of his life. It was then that it all clicked. His first thought was that she'd be mad about the toothpaste stain because their relationship, including this step that they'd taken, was about so much more than just kisses and _I love you's_. It was about remembering that she didn't want to have a headache in the morning and untangling her curls from the black elastic, letting her sleep under a throw that he'd pulled off of her living room couch while he soaked her comforter to stop her new purple blanket from having a mint accent.

She only shifted a little, murmuring whispered nonsense as he peeled her out of the cardigan that still smelled like his place and wrestled one of his own large T's over her head. He wasn't being biased about her sleeping apparel. This was just easier to get onto her body without maneuvering a pair of pants, too.

By the time he threw her comforter into the dryer, locked up all the doors, and folded his own clothes on top of her dresser, it was almost nine. He truly surprised himself with how quickly his own body succumbed to sleep as he wrapped his arms lightly around her, doing his very best not to wake her.

It was just after midnight when she was gasping in his ear, shooting straight up in bed in a panic that made him think she was seizing or something.

" _Oh my god, Jim!_ I'm _so sorry!_ "

It was a yelled whisper, if there ever was such a thing, but he was still dazed and half in his REM-cycle, unable to do much more than mumble ' _S okay, Pam_ and tighten his arms around her middle before she was pulling them off and trying to sit up straighter. It was then that he shook his head, rubbed his eyes with a closed fist, let a yawn rip his mouth into a wide _O_ , and did his best to focus on the fact that his girlfriend was on the verge of a breakdown while she turned on the bedside lamp and all but blinded him.

"Oh my god, oh my _god_ , I _swear_ I didn't mean to fall asleep! _Shit_!"

Apparently laughter was _not_ the appropriate reaction, because, in the first time he'd ever truly heard her _whine_ (in a setting that didn't have her pinned beneath him as he teased her bare skin relentlessly), he decided quickly that he really didn't like it with her lip trembling and her eyes glassy.

"Aww, hey, come here," he chuckled, pulling her head to his chest with a _thud_ , her fingers warm and a little sweaty where they bunched at the front of his undershirt. He kissed and stroked her hair as he felt her brow furrow, her lips form the words _It's not funny,_ as he continued to laugh.

"It's a little funny," he chuckled, pulling away to find a trembling scowl that only fueled his late night giggles.

"We were...I was supposed to...I had a whole _outfit_!" she exclaimed, pounding his chest with her tiny furled fists, avoiding a _Sorry_ when he puffed out an _Ow_!

"A whole outfit?" he mocked, fingering the hem of the t-shirt of his that had ridden up high on her thigh from sleep and her recent thrashing about. "I quite like this outfit though."

His voice dropped, was rough with sleep and the temperament that accompanied being woken in the middle of a cycle, the one that was making itself known in his lap, against _her_ lap, while she tried to fight sleep in favor of being mad at herself.

"Yeah but I...god, I went shopping and everything. You were going to love it."

He felt her forehead sag against his chest, her lower lip jut out further as his peck was met with a cool, slick sensation. He wanted to pull it between his teeth and bite. He wanted to fall back asleep. He wanted to stop her from feeling _so bad_ and thinking that she'd ruined their night.

Somehow, pulling her up by the chin and pressing his lips to her nose was the middle ground.

"Hey. Calm down," he chuckled, his eyes fluttering against hers. "I'm pretty sure we're both exhausted. Why don't we just…"

When his nose brushed against hers, his plans of finishing that sentence with _Get some sleep_ turned into an entirely different kind of whine, her cheek in his palm, her hands around his neck and twined into his hair as lips became soft and everywhere. If he focused hard enough, he would know that the sounds of her room were nothing but the whir of the fan, the rustling of sheets as she adjusted herself in his lap, and tiny wet sounds as their lips met and parted.

But instead, because he was still somewhere between waking and sleeping, his entire body was just _feeling_. Her skin, warm and soft beneath his fingertips. Her lips, slick and parting as they slid with his to a rhythm that was sometimes quick and sometimes slow and sometimes desperate. Her fingers, clinging to his hair, letting go, scrambling to pull him closer when she realized she was slipping. Her hips, resituating from where her knees had been tucked across his lap, to now straddling him, sometimes close enough to touch, but then sometimes almost standing to push their chests together, their lips closer.

It went on for awhile, minutes, a half hour, forty-five. No one was really keeping track of anything aside from the feel of lips on lips, of a tongue occasionally darting out, making an entrance, stealing a sigh. But to match their state of drowsiness, hands were slow, soft moving, but then quick and needy, as if they were falling in a dream and trying to catch themselves before they hit the ground.

With his eyes drooping and fluttering and fighting to stay open, he scooted forward, flipped them over, focused his now swollen lips on her neck. It was one of his favorite things, when she would massage the top of his head while he kissed her, lowered his mouth over new parts of her skin, how she would pull a little tighter when it was something she liked. She sighed when his tongue touched her belly button, took a sharp intake of breath when his teeth grazed the waistband of her underwear, moaned low in her throat when his nose brushed the front that was now soaked through. He was kissing the cotton of her panties, light and lingering, loving the feel of her sporadic hip jerks in time with the grasp of her fingers in his hair. But as he pushed her panties to the side, let the cool air hit her, touched his tongue to her, there was an alarming lack of her fingers in his hair, hips jerking, those little noises catching in her throat.

Because, for the second time in a matter of hours, those little noises were replaced by snores, and her fingers were limp, and her breathing was slow and steady instead of intermittent and labored.

He dropped his head between her legs, this time in one last, half-assed chuckle before shifting his weight off of her, pulling the blanket over both of their bodies, and burying his nose between her breasts, using her torso as a pillow as he let the oncoming wave of sleep drown him.

He stirred before she did, which wasn't saying much, considering she slept until eleven. But on the edge of nine o'clock, his body's reflexes wrapped his legs around hers, nuzzled low on her belly, before he had the idea to let her sleep. Much as he wanted to lay in bed with her, watch the air pass through her barely parted lips and her chest grow and fall, he was already getting out of bed to pee. There wasn't much of a reason to disturb the mattress twice.

Instead, he found himself busy in the kitchen, finding all of the necessary ingredients for French toast and readying the batter while her comforter fluffed in the dryer. He found the toothbrush that she kept for him on the edge of the sink and freshened up a bit, adding a swipe of deodorant and his fingers through his hair before checking in on her. The curtains were still drawn over her window, so she was all grey hues and shadows as he padded softly out of the bedroom and into the living room. After setting the table and preparing everything so that it was set to go upon her waking, he settled on the couch with a copy of _The Hunt for Red October_ that he'd left here for just such occasion. He was through fifty pages before he heard the familiar soft pad of socked feet on the carpet. Her chin was resting on top of his head before he had the chance to bookmark his spot.

He let out a throaty, "Good morning," as he folded down the corner of his page and replaced the book on the coffee table, finding her hands flat on his chest and bringing them to his lips to kiss them.

"Mmm, morning," she sighed, her lips puckered somewhere in his hair.

They stayed like that for a minute before he stood, keeping her hands in his as he half tugged, half met her around to the side of the couch, pressing his lips lightly to hers before pulling away to meet her eyes, their noses still pressed at the tip.

His, "Breakfast?" was met with a nod of her head, her eyes trained on their feet as he led her by the hand to a seat at the kitchen table, turning the burner on as he dipped bread in his bowl of batter, the sizzle sending steam immediately to the ceiling. She sat with her fists tucked under chin, studying the way his back stretched the cotton of his t-shirt and grinning from ear to ear as a faint whistle hit her ears. He set a plate in front of her, the _cling_ of glass hitting the table disturbing the quiet they'd been wrapped in. Her plate was quickly followed by two glasses of orange juice, a bottle of syrup, and a bowl of cut up strawberries. She smiled in thanks while they both dug in, satiating their lack of dinner from the night before in silence for a while.

"So, uh...can I just apologize again for last night?" she asked, her voice timid, eyes fixed on swirling her piece of French toast in a puddle of syrup.

"Nope."

"Jim," she sighed, watching him munch his breakfast as if completely undisturbed by their ruined plans.

"What?" he chuckled, mouth full of breakfast.

"I…"

"You were _tired_. What's there to apologize for?"

As she grasped for words, he took both of their plates to the sink to rinse. She let her chin fall into her open palm, frustration beginning to set in. Why wasn't he mad?

Her answer was quick, without having to speak the question, when he was suddenly on his knees in front of her, engulfing her cheeks with his hands as he spoke so close, it was as if he was breathing them to her.

"Hey. Listen." His eyes dropped to her lips, dragged back up her face, rested in her gaze. "We've kind of been going nonstop since...well." He smirked then, earning a small smile from her as he pressed on. "The fact that you fell asleep last night? Kind of sexy."

"Okay, you lost me here, crazy. Wanna backtrack?"

"Absolutely," he replied, his voice still doing things to make her stomach drop, despite recently feeding it. Before he carried on, his tongue was at one corner of her mouth, then the other, just barely there but enough to cause her eyes to flutter closed.

"Sorry. Syrup."

He shrugged. She shivered.

"Anyway. You passed out last night, obviously exhausted. Kind of sexy, because that means that I wore you out."

As he spoke, his lips found their way to her ear, eventually closing around the lobe and sucking just enough to make her moan, grip the front of his shirt while his hand closed around the side of her head to hold her tightly.

But as quickly as he was there, he was gone, standing and striding back to the sink, a sponge against a dirty plate before she could quite gather herself. Now intrigued, and way more awake than she had been the night before, she sauntered up behind him, her hands wrapping around his front as she buried her nose in his back. Her fingers scratched lightly up and down his chest, teasing the waistband of his boxer briefs before moving quickly back up. The feel of his chest heaved under her fingers each time they travelled lower.

"Wore me out, huh?" she breathed, nuzzling her nose under his arm, placing a long kiss to his side.

"I mean, you should have seen yourself, Beesly," he said, his voice steady as he put another plate into the drying rack and grabbed a fork. "All _mouth open_ and _snoring_ and junk. I'd say I did _quite_ the number on you."

He didn't so much as shift towards her, remained focused on the task at hand, while she moved her hands to rest on his pelvic bone, her fingers swirling and playing with this waistband now purposely.

"And _how_ exactly do you figure that was _your_ doing?" she pressed on, scratching just under the waistband now, feeling the coarse hair there as her cheeks and belly warmed.

"Well," he shrugged. "I seem to recall not one, but _two_ consecutive nights spent with my name rolling off your tongue at _quite_ the volume. Just a hunch, though."

"Oh really? Interesting."

As she pondered aloud, she wrapped her hand around him under his briefs, feeling him already half hard and growing as she pumped him just once, a satisfied smirk curling her lips when he groaned and leaned his forehead against her cabinets. He muttered a strangled _Mhm_ as she continued to work him, slow and steady, loving the feel of him growing in her palm, the slickness of precum already dribbling down to meet her fingertips.

When he turned around, she was already dropping to the floor, his underwear going with her. He lifted his leg just enough to kick them away from his ankles before her lips were on him. His lower back caught the edge of the counter as his top half leaned back, a long moan exiting his lungs as his head tipped back and his eyes closed and he fisted her loose curls. She hummed around him, working his base with one fist as he thrust with her rhythm. When she reached down to cup his balls, his groan was accompanied by a hand under her chin, another under thighs as he hoisted her onto the kitchen counter.

She grabbed his face in both of her hands, their lips crashing together as his fingers sought her hips, dug in tightly as he pulled them together. She was wet at the crotch of her panties where their lower halves met, wet where his fingers found her skin, wet around him when his fingers entered her quickly before she was tugging at his wrist and whining that gorgeous whine that he was beginning to understand meant _want_ and _please_ and _now_.

It took a moment to situate her, but once she was poised with both hands on the edge of the counter, her lips buried by his ear to prevent her from whacking her head on the cabinet, he positioned himself at her entrance, pulled their hips together, and thrust with a hunger that overwhelmed what his stomach had been craving this morning.

He had to focus, not wanting her to slip off the counter or hit her head, so his gaze was trained to where their bodies met, the intimacy of watching himself slip in and out of her so heavily erotic that he had to close his eyes for a second. Her legs were wrapped around his back, one arm snaking up to the base of his neck to pull at his hair while her breath steamed his ears. His grip on her hips was so tight, she was bound to have bruises in the shape of his fingertips later in the afternoon.

When her breathing quickened, he pushed himself deep inside her, bottomed out so that he could grind his pelvis against her while he buried his lips in her neck. She was grunting, writhing fitfully as she sought her release. When she bit down on his shoulder, grasped a little harder, he began pumping faster, letting his fingers continue her wave as he quickly came to his own.

His groans were low, vibrating against the skin of her throat, heavy as he slowed his rhythm and eventually pulled out, letting his head stay resting on top of her shoulder for a moment. She kept her hands moving in his hair, now slick with sweat and forming together in styles. Her ankles were still crossed loosely at his back when he picked his head up, kissed the base of her throat up to her ear, her cheek her eyes, her nose. Her smile was satiated, dreamy almost as she kissed his lips, rubbed their noses together.

"You still upset that you slept so long last night?" he asked, his voice still thick and gritty.

"Mmm...I suppose we can just make up for lost time, now that we're both well rested," she whispered back, biting her lip when he turned to kiss her jaw.

"Good. Because I'm _pretty_ sure I've been denied a shower with you not _once_ , but _twice_ in the past two days."

She dropped to the floor, her lower half grazing him as she slunk between his body and the counter. Her hands came to rest on his shoulders, plucking at the cotton of the t-shirt that he was still, for some ungodly reason, wearing.

"Well, we wouldn't want you to be all grubby for the rest of the weekend, would we?"

His answer was caught somewhere between their lips, between her fingers pulling him by the t-shirt (that apparently _did_ have a use) into the bathroom.

She made him turn around while she undressed. He thought it was adorable.

He made faces at the bottle of girly body wash, but not so much when she was warming the liquid between her hands and running her fingers down his chest, wrapped around him for the second time that morning, worked him stiff.

She bit her lip while he mimicked her actions, working the soap around her breasts, pinching just enough to make her squeak before bubbles brushed across her shoulders, down her arms. It was difficult for him to kneel in front of her, so he turned them around, his back brushing the shower curtain before water was drumming his skin and her back was against the wall and his palms were kneading suds into her thighs.

Despite all of his efforts to protect her in the kitchen, her head hit the tiled wall with a loud groan when his tongue met her. This time, her hands were generous, holding on tighter with the added slipperiness. She was coming apart at the seams when he stood, held her slick body with one arm while the other held his balance against the wall. Her shouts echoed in the small space as she came quickly, falling against him while he drove himself home.

When her body slumped against his, he kissed her nose before reaching behind him to grab the bottle of shampoo off the shelf. After he worked the suds through her hair, massaged her scalp, rinsed and conditioned, he shut the water and pulled a fluffy towel from the rack.

It was mesmerizing to watching his hands work the large towel around her body, taking care when he ruffled it around her head, wrapped it around her and tied it at the chest before drying himself off.

He dressed in a clean pair of boxers while she pulled on fresh panties and the same t-shirt of his that she'd worn to bed. When they fell together in the middle of the couch, Jim on his back with Pam on top, he couldn't wipe the smile from his face. When she giggled and pressed her nose into his cheek and said, _What?_ he pulled her close, wrapped his arms around her, stroked the skin on the back of her neck to where it met the cotton.

Of his shirt.

"I'm just happy," he shrugged, kissing her temple. She pulled him away from his hiding place, smiling before her lips closed around his for a long, slow kiss.

"I'm happy, too." She bit her lip, smiled, kissed him again, lay her head on his chest.

The TV served only as background noise between kisses and grinding and hands winding their way underneath cotton, to sighs and groans, and strings of _Fuck_ and _God_ , _more_ and noises that weren't really words at all.

In the middle of a _Friends_ marathon, he whispered, "So, this _outfit_ you mentioned? _Do_ I get to see it?" to which she replied, "Maybe someday. You were right about this one. It has its perks," before she pulled the shirt off in one fell swoop, letting his hands cover every inch that had been previously covered in cotton.

She sat in his lap while they shared cartons of Chinese, her back to his front as he teased her for hogging the fried rice and licked below her ear while he waited for her to be done with it. When he asked about dessert, she returned with the unfinished bowl of strawberries from breakfast that he had put back in the fridge. She poised one half in her teeth, and let him pull it from her, their lips meeting with a _smack._ He licked the juice before it dribbled down her chin.

It wasn't until they were in her bed, wrapped in floral and sweat and pure bliss that he traced the curve of her ear with his nose, his eyes closed as words finally escaped him.

"I still think it's kind of funny that you were mad about falling asleep last night."

"Hey. We've already been over this," she retorted, her fingers running up and down the inside of the arm he had draped across her bare torso. "I think you've _more_ than made your case."

"Mmm, I could definitely add a few more justifications, if you're not quite convinced."

But he stopped himself, kissed the sighs away at her jaw, and pulled her closer.

"But, for real, Pam...this is just the beginning. We have...god, we have _forever_ to be like this."

She was turning in his arms now, grasping his bicep, her eyes shining as she nodded for him to go on.

"I'm just so...I mean, I'm still pinching myself that this is _you_ , that you're _here, with me_ right now. It's...I can't even...I love you, so much, Pam Beesly."

She pinched him then, earning a yelp, a tackle, her body situated underneath him as he tickled her sides and let him suck the air from her lungs in a different way than he had been doing all day. But when she settled, her fingers playing with the hair that was long enough now to flop over his ears, she pulled him down for a kiss that was too sweet to rank anywhere near what he'd been doing to her earlier.

"Start believing it, Halpert. Because I'm not going anywhere. I love you, too."


	14. Chapter 14

**The One with the Quiet Place Knock-Off**

It wasn't his first choice, or even his second or third or seventieth.

The first time they went away together, he wanted it to be special. A fancy, five star hotel in a city with twinkling lights. Expensive outfits and dinner bills that he didn't even let her see. A suite with a jacuzzi, if he played his cards right, but one with a king sized bed would do. One where a plate of chocolate covered strawberries and a fancy bottle of wine or champagne would be ready and chilling in a bucket of ice when they got back to the room.

Wine _preferably_ not made out of beets.

But when her eyes had lit up, locking with his across the bullpen while she placed the reservation with- _gulp, Dwight_ -sitting right next to him, how could he say no?

It was too last minute for him to make plans other than _Throw pajamas and work clothes for tomorrow into a duffel bag_ and _Don't forget your toothbrush and deodorant_ and a hot second to contemplate the half empty box of condoms in his bedside table drawer.

On the one hand: _First night away with Pam._

On the other hand: _In Dwight's bed and breakfast._

Well. Better safe than sorry.

He picked her up at 5:45, took her duffel bag from her hands and opened the door for her, tossing her bag in the trunk with his after he had tucker her safely inside.

There was nothing even remotely romantic about the trip. Dwight had them shoveling manure, for God's sake. But every time he glanced in her direction, shared a laugh or a wide-eyed expression at the sheer _oddity_ of their situation, he was reminded that it wasn't the fancy bedding and the triple digits on receipts and the outrageous bottles of alcohol that defined a _romantic night away._

It was the look on her face, the sparkle in her eye, the way her eyes bulged whenever she giggled, her tongue poking out from between her teeth, that made his belly warm and his heart swell.

It was so _Dwight_ to have his own custom beds, and Jim's heart sank upon seeing the room with two instead of one. But when she situated herself between his legs and lay her head back against his chest while the seventh installment of Harry Potter painted the walls of the Irrigation Room, there was nowhere in the world he would have rather been.

He felt her shift against him, snuggle her back closer to his front, closed his eyes and swallowed a breath and willed his body not to continue reacting to her as Harry cast another spell. He kissed the back of her head, breathed in the scent of her shampoo, squeezed her a little more tightly.

When Dwight left them a little after ten, Mose marching awkwardly out the door behind him only to pause in the doorway, give them a creepy stare, and mutter _The bed bugs only bite if you struggle_ , he gave her a playful shove off of his lap, sending her hurtling the short distance between the beds.

"Well. Goodnight, Beesly. It's been fun."

He bit the inside of his mouth, trying to stifle his laughter as he tucked his long legs under the itchy quilt. The look on her face screamed _What the actual hell?_ , mimicked in the way that she poised her hands on her hips, her eyebrows knit together in the middle, one cocked high on her forehead while she steadied her body and stood upright.

"Ex _cuse_ me?"

"What?" he played dumb well, shrugging his shoulders, shimmying further under his covers. "The owners here at Schrute Farms are _clearly_ in opposition of cohabitation. It's only right and fair that we honor those policies, Pam. We want to be asked back, don't we?"

He felt panic creep up as his joke turned sour, her wide eyes turning to slits, her lips settling into a thin line, the word _Fine_ thick in the air as she crossed the room and turned out the lights. He could make out the sounds of her feet on the hardwood floor, the mattress giving way to her body, the blanket lifting and falling around her.

The night was still, quiet. He could hear her breathing if he concentrated enough, pushed back the sounds of the creaking and swaying old house. He was hot all of a sudden, anxious and twitchy. It was only a joke. She was his joke-partner-in-crime, right? He hadn't gone too far this time, had he?

He was drumming his closed fist against his thigh, about ready to jump out of his bed and share a twin for the night like he was back in college, when he heard a light scraping sound. With the moonlight streaming in from the window, he could make out her outline, her biceps straining against the bed frame as she pushed it closer to his. She grunted, muttered a curse under her breath, and jumped back onto the mattress when it had reached his destination, fit snugly against his.

He remained immobile until he felt her body snuggle against him, felt her arm wind around his waist and her curls tickle his chest and his neck. He let out a sigh, reciprocating her touch immediately, winding his arms around her body and clasping his fingers at her waist.

"You didn't think I was going to let you get off _that_ easily, did you?" she muttered against his chest, propping her chin up to look at him.

Laughter rumbled in his chest, vibrated against her chin, before she caught the meaning behind her words.

"Oh, _shut it,_ you know what I _meant_."

"Yeah, I see how it is," he replied, continuing to laugh against her skin. "You _clearly_ had a mission when you pushed these beds together."

She saw his eyebrows waggle as her own eyes adjusted to the darkness, and promptly smacked him on the chest, earning a _Hey! Ow! Seriously, Beesly, this is a_ buse!

The wicked look in her eye twinkled as she sat above him, her fingers drumming softly against his stomach.

"So. You want to _get off,_ huh?"

" _Wow_ , _o_ -kay there, porny. Could you _be_ any less of a turn-on right now?"

He mocked her, knowing that his twisted expression was less than visible in the dark blanket of night in the middle of a cornfield. But then he was forced to swallow it whole when there was no precursor to her fingers suddenly below his waistband, wrapped around his soft cock. There was nothing he could do, he realized, as he felt his flesh begin to stiffen and grow in her grasp, with Dwight undoubtedly right down the hall.

As his breath hitched and his eyes shut softly, the thought passed that, while Dwight was more than likely tucked in for the evening, there was a very _real_ chance that Mose could be lurking outside their room.

It was this thought that had him moving her abruptly, a gentle shove, a hand around her wrist to still the torturous movement of her fingers against his flesh. Even with distance between them, she still found a way to tickle her toes against his calves, her breath still finding bare spots of skin, clearly a little heavier than it had been just moments ago.

He could make out her lips curling into a grin, one that was both sweet and sultry, as she peeled his hand from where it lay against her stomach, closed the distance that he had created, and hovered her face above his while keeping the rest of her body at his side.

"What's the matter?" Her tone wasn't quite a whisper, but her tone was low and thick, the vibrations meant for his ears only. "Afraid management will hear us and kick us out?"

Her curls, dangling above him, tickled his chin, his neck. His throat bobbed as he swallowed, peeled his lips apart to speak.

"Uh, kind of?" he claimed, his eyebrows peaking as the words stilled in his throat, his body tingling with anticipation as he felt her wrist moving against the restraint of his fingers, unable to do anything to stop her as she tickled the skin above his waistband.

"Then I guess we'll just have to be _super quiet_."

She was whispering now, her words and her lips brushing his skin, her tongue sneaking out just a bit to trace the shell of his ear. She was close enough to his body to hear a high pitched moan squeak in the base of his throat, his hips jerking into her touch.

Then, her index finger met his lips, her eyes wide above him.

"Do you think you can do that, Jim?"

When she quirked her eyebrow, scratched his upper lip slightly, his stare widened, too, took on the color of the night. Her lips came into that same sexy smile then, making his knees weak, as she picked up her pace.

He cupped her cheeks when their lips met, her wrist moving steadily under his pants. Her lips slid over his so fluidly, her tongue teasing his mouth only to pull back, but he held on, desperate to muffle the noises that were suddenly clouding his throat, begging to escape.

When she moved her lips to his cheek, his jaw, his throat right below his ear with a light suckling, she brought that finger back to his lips, her _Shhhh_ 's cool against the skin where her lips and her tongue had just been.

"We have to be quiet," she reminded him, her teeth pressing lightly into his ear lobe now, while her hand continued to work him.

He was going to die tonight.

In Dwight Schrute's bed and breakfast, of all places.

When her hand disappeared, he began to groan in protest, but soon, it was swallowed by her tongue pushing past his lips, her hips covering his, her fingers tangled in his hair as she moved above and against him.

The sensations were overwhelming, as she moved over him with an intensity that contradicted the quiet, the slow rate at which their hips were moving together. She tugged at his hair, but her hips were torturously slow; her tongue was making darting movements, there and gone, sucking his into her mouth before disappearing altogether, taking a moment to smirk down at him, to look at him like she wanted to eat him alive.

And he wasn't about to protest.

But he was quickly realizing that, while his hands were clinging to her hips for dear life, he had no control tonight. No. He was at her beck and call. Tonight was all for her.

When she sat up, he let her peel the tank top from her body, doing nothing but drinking in the milk of her skin in the pale moonlight as cotton floated to the floor. Her eyes were wide and dark as she gazed down at him, nothing but want in her stare.

He wanted to reach out and touch her, to run his fingers over her perfect skin and her peaked nipples, but he could do nothing but watch, as her own hands started to snake down her body, to cup her own breasts and tickle down her stomach, to find the juncture of their pelvises and feel where they met together.

If she wanted him silenced, she was certainly doing the trick.

He couldn't tear his eyes from her, from her hands as they pushed up the cotton of his t-shirt, helped him to pull it off when he sat up, from her large eyes when he was pulling him up to straddle his lap and her fingers were tapping on his cheeks, studying him like he was an open book that she wanted to absorb.

When her lips met his, soft and plump, he kept his eyes open, marveling in the way that her eyelashes fluttered against his skin, loving that he could see her body moving up and against his torso as she pushed their bodies closer. He clenched his hands around her bare back, pushed her chest to his, but let her continue to drive them, to take command with her lips and her small yet hot hands.

Her fingers dipped below the waistband of his blue plaid pajama pants, taking his boxers with them when he lifted his hips to help her slide them off. He was still visibly aroused, not even from the work of her hands earlier, but from the sight of her, the intensity in the room towering down and pushing against every nerve in his body. When her hands were against his chest again, pushing him backwards, he followed blindly, staring as she lifted her body to her knees, removed her plaid pants and cotton panties in one fell swoop, and sat above him.

It was as if the night, the moon, the quiet, were all playing tricks on him; her body appeared so tall and commanding above him. With his lips parted, his large hands continuing their soft back and forth on her now bare hips, he was in genuine awe. She was glistening, slick against him, and despite her own cautions, she was closing her eyes and mewling and licking her lips as she rubbed against him.

In all of their, albeit short, time together, he had never thought to just _watch_. He wanted to touch and kiss and hear her make those noises that he knew he was creating. But now, seeing the way that her head was lolling and her fingers were curling against his chest while she moved, he wondered what else he had been missing.

The fingers of one hand tickled up her stomach, and he could see the lines on her body that they made as she pinched her nipple between her fingers, let out a soft sound as she curled her lips inside. He loved the way that she was sighing so silently, something he would have missed if he hadn't been so trained on the heave in her chest and the way her lips were parting just enough to let air sneak out.

He was throbbing beneath her, a sharp intake of breath making his chest hollow when she sat up just enough to palm him and rub herself back and forth over his tip. When she began to swallow him, inch by inch, it was a fight for his eyes between her face and the place where their bodies met. It was so intimate, watching her head fall back in ecstasy as she eased herself onto him, the fingers of one hand clutching at his chest with the other grasping her breast fully, tight. He could see where her nails dug into her own flesh, where the skin raised and reddened for a fleeting moment. He wanted to kiss each line, soothe her skin, but he refrained, letting his eyes be his only windows tonight.

Her lips parted, a puff of air replacing what he was so used to being a long and low moan. But this was so much sweeter, as his ears picked up the sounds of her moving back and forth against him, their bodies slick between them.

As she moved back and forth, he shifted his hips, pumping slow and steady underneath her, but still ensuring that she held the reigns. He held her hips, his fingers grasping against her skin steadily, her skin hot to the touch as she continued to move.

She was a goddess, the gold of her curls bright in the moonlight, her tongue quick as she licked her lips, closed her eyes, enjoyed these moments of being joined together with him. These small sounds, her lips on skin, her nails raking her chest, the mattress shifting beneath them, echoed loudly in his ears in a way that her moans and sighs and dirty talk never had. It wasn't necessarily _better_ , but the differences turned him on to a whole new side of making love to Pam that he hadn't experienced yet.

It wasn't until he felt her begin to clench around him, his own tightness impending too, that those small noises began to grow. She was moving more quickly, her breath heavier and coming in pants. This was the part in the game where his hands would take over, helping him drive into her on one hand but meeting at her center to drive her home all the same. But still, she continued to surprise him.

Her eyes remained closed as she took her hand from his chest, but he didn't mind the chill left behind as her fingers met between them. She was using her first three fingers, sneaking between them slightly to wet herself first, which made his breath hitch.

Watching her bring her own body to the brink was an out of body experience. Her hands seemed to mimic one another; the quicker her fingers moved against her clit, the harder she pinched at her breast, the more her upper body jerked. It was so poetic, the way her body was coming to its peak, the way it was coming at her own hands.

He wondered briefly if she had ever done this with Roy, if this was something that would hurt Roy's pride. But here, as she breathed in spurts and pinched her eyes shut and her lips snapped between parting and curling inside and humming together, he wanted her to be this free, to take charge of what she wanted to have it all at her tips of her fingers. In his own awe, he did his best to hold her to him, to make sure she didn't go hurtling into space.

When her pulsations around him finally exploded, he watched the noises in her throat as they shot up her body, and as her back arched, throwing her hair back and her breasts out, he knew she was going to wake up the neighborhood. In an instant, keeping his eyes opened, he sat up and captured her lips just in time to swallow every noise she had been holding in since she had joined their beds together.

He tasted each one; some were high pitched and whiny, while others were low as they vibrated against his lips. His tongue sneaked past her lips, lapping up each sigh as he pumped furiously, still focused on the way that her eyes pinched closed tighter still, the way her body was still pulsing around him. When he came, he tasted satisfaction on her tongue, watched the smile as it creeped up her cheeks, and the softness in her eyes as her body relaxed and melted against him.

It was then that his body shattered, collapsed underneath her.

His eyes closed finally, succumbing to his remaining senses as he felt her hair smother his chest and his neck, the cold space between them where wetness was now met with cool air. He heard hear breath as it whined from her nose, not quite slowing just yet, tasted salt on his tongue. Her scent, not just shampoo and body lotion, but something so inherently feminine, gave him a moment of pause where he was craving more.

They lay there in the stilled silence, unmoving save for the way their bodies parted with each expansion of a chest. When she finally moved, her nose brushing against his chest, tracing up the column of his neck, it was only to readjust herself, to move her body against him more closely, as he felt her breath slow and her body grow heavy.

She slept on top of him, her body clutched around him, her legs wrapped across his waist and between his body, her arms slung across his chest and his waist, her face tucked into the curve of his neck where he could feel each and every puff of life leaving and coming.

As he closed his eyes for the first time that night, he pulled her even more closely into him, nuzzled his body against her, and listened in the still silence for everything he had missed before.


	15. Chapter 15

**The One with the Big Fat Lie and the Jolly Green Giant**

"I'm kidding around."

 _No I'm not._

"We joke about that stuff all the time."

We _don't joke around, but_ I think _about it all the time. In a non joking manner. In a very real, worrisome manner._

"I'm not really the jealous type..."

 _Nope. Not at all. Not when Roy would flirt with cheerleaders or I would get death glares in the hallway. But, all of a sudden, olive skin and dark hair turns me green._

"...so, I don't care if Jim sees Karen."

 _Yes, I do._

"...I care a little."

 _I care a_ lot.

It wasn't often that I told bold faced lies to the camera crew. Sure, Jim and I fibbed to them all the time. When we first started dating, we skirted around the truth, but it wasn't that hard to do, and half the time it was just circumstantial opportunity, not really _lying_.

But now, fidgeting in my desk chair and slamming my receiver into its cradle with a resounding _thud_ , something was clearly up, _up_ enough to pull me aside for a quick talking head that had my cheeks tinted both from jealousy and from the lies I was stringing.

Of course, the truth of the matter came to light after Uitica's receptionist called to tell me how embarrassing the entire situation was, and of course I felt bad for him when he came back. But as we left the office and I was reminded of where he'd been and who he'd been with, I felt my face growing warm again. I cracked the passenger side window and leaned my forehead against the cool glass.

Our ride was silent in voice, the radio on low as some alternative music layering the air.

He must have noticed my demeanor, because he was Jim, and he always did.

"Hey," he said softly, his smile warming the chill that had settled beneath my crossed arms. "You okay?"

He reached across the front seat, his fingers lightly gripping my thigh, and when I flinched slightly, his eyebrows turned. I regretted it immediately, thinking he hadn't felt it.

"Yeah, I'm fine."

Another lie.

I was really cashing in today.

But this time, it was to the one person who could read me like an open book.

"Right, like I'm going to believe _that_ ," he quipped back, his eyes dropping back into a serious line. "Seriously, did something happen while I was gone today?"

I shifted in my seat, antsy and anxious now, trying to find somewhere for my eyes to rest that wasn't _Jim's eyes_ because there I would surely be trapped.

"No, I'm fine. Just cranky today I guess."

I shrugged, my arms crossed more tightly, my body starting to sweat.

I could hear the _Hmm_ low in his throat and snuck a peek to watch his eyebrows turn down before, "Guess I should probably feed you then," snuck past his lips and contradicted what I knew to be a worried train of thought.

But despite his attempts to make me giggle as he bounced around my kitchen in just his jeans and an apron, I poked at my dinner with one hand while my chin rested in the other. He didn't push the issue, just carried most of the conversation as he clued me in on Michael and Dwight's antics that afternoon.

After dinner, we spooned on my couch with the TV on, his fingers trickling softly up and down my bare arms. I lay with my cheek on both hands instead of engaging them on his skin in some way as I usually did, my thoughts still months behind us, tangled in my own misery.

 _"Wait, you're going along with this now?"_

 _"Pam, I have to. If I'm not there, someone's gonna go to jail, or die."_

 _"Right. And you wouldn't be able to talk to Karen."_

 _"Well, I promise you, that has nothing to do with it."_

 _"A little bit."_

 _"Well, yeah, I don't wanna see her get physically harmed, that's for sure."_

 _"Because you love her? Because you love her very much?"_

 _"Alright, I'm gonna go now."_

 _"Okay, have fun with your girlfriend."_

 _"Oookay, I will."_

"Hey. Talk to me."

His fingers were absent, now clutching the remote as he turned off the television, shifted his body weight, turned me towards him.

I hated that he could read my mind.

He had put on a t-shirt somewhere between _Making dinner topless_ and _actually consuming it_ , so I focused on the lettering in his old West Scranton shirt. If I stared hard enough, the end of my nose could fit into the empty space of the "A" in _Invaders_.

My fists, tiny balls against his chest, smoothed across the cotton of his t-shirt, brushing out the wrinkles until only a flat surface remained.

Then his fingers were under my chin, his eyes staring right into mine.

"Talk to you about what?" I breathed out, my annoyance at the way my mind was running with rampant thoughts of my boyfriend and his ex tangled around my words.

"About what _ever_ it is that has you so grouchy tonight," he retorted, his eyebrows now tented as he pushed his body back away from me. "I can't fix it if you don't tell me what it is."

 _Let's just get this over with._

"How was your date with Karen?" I challenged him, figuring we'd just get it out in the open, and when he sat abruptly, his hands running through his hair, I prepared my scowl and my tears.

"Is _that_ what this is about?" he started, his tone high as he squinted at me from his spot to my side.

I turned my body on the couch so that my knees were hugged to my chest, my body facing forward. I rested my ear on my knees so that my face was pointed towards him. Shrugging in response, I watched him tilt his chin to the ceiling before looking at me with this stare that was this intense mixture between frustration, disbelief, and this sadness that I haven't truly seen there since we were apart and longing for each other.

That look killed me.

 _Devastated_ me.

Broke me open and brought me back to _Roy's_ and _Karen's_ and a place where he was so far away, too far away, that I was suddenly regretting my anger and my jealousy and my little hissy fit.

I bit my lip, wanting to pull my words back in so badly, to just keep my swimming thoughts stuffed up inside my head, to go back to having him behind me and touching me and holding me safely in his arms.

But I'd already opened the can of worms, so to speak, and as he mussed up his hair with both hands and turned towards me in disbelief, I braced myself for the impact of what I'd just done.

"God, Pam, I don't...I don't know what it's going to take for you to believe that…"

My lips were trembling, on the verge of tears, but he choked them from me when all of a sudden he was picking me up, slinging me over his shoulder and moving in long strides to my bedroom. I was upside down, my nose brushing his back, but by the time I got my bearings, I was landing with a _thud_ on my back, the unmade duvet fluttering around me.

When I glanced up, I lost my breath.

He was kneeling on my bed, that same intensity in his stare he'd had on the couch still present, but the sadness, the hurt, was gone, replaced instead by this hunger that reminded me of, like, a jungle cat about to pounce.

I was nervous again, but this time for a different reason.

He shucked his shirt off, in that sexy way that guys do where they pull it over from the back with one hand, and I shuddered, scooting myself closer to the headboard by shuffling my feet along the duvet.

But when he reached out, grabbed my ankle, pulled me back down, flattened me on my back with one tug, I realized that he had a point to make, and _goddamn_ was he going to.

In the dark of my room, with the hall light shining behind him, he had this eerie white glow making him seem almost ghost like. I waited for his touch, paralyzed under his eyes as he inched forward.

"Pam Beesly." My name was like gravel on his tongue, and while I was shuddering away, _God_ I wanted more. "Why in _God's name_ would I want to be with anyone else when I have you?"

It was such a simple phrase, but every few words, he took a pause to run his fingers along my skin, like a match to a tinderbox. In retrospect, it was more like:

"Pam Beesly."

 _His hands hot on my feet, pinning them to the bed._

"Why…"

 _Long fingers sneaking up my ankles._

"...in _God's name_ …"

 _Creeping between my legs as he pushed them apart, his hands on my knees, brushing along the crease._

"...would I want to be with…"

 _Strong hands encasing my waist, his fingers gripping around my sides while his thumbs traced the lines of my panties underneath my pajamas._

"...anyone else…"

 _Squeezing, just a bit too much, enough to make me bite my lip, to make me squeak._

"...when I have you?"

 _His face, so close to mine that he was breathing into me, our inhales and exhales somehow timed to feed one another, his eyes overwhelmingly large, hypnotizing me into a place where all I could see was him._

And then, it was his lips, with no precursor or playfulness, but instead they were insistent, hungry, full and wanting as he devoured mine, moving over me with the same hunger that I felt in his hands as one pulled my cheek forcefully to him, and the other wrapped around my waist, pulling me off the bed and pinning me to his body.

He was moving more quickly than I could keep up with, my breathing ragged and uneven; I had to push him away to get small doses of oxygen to my brain. This he understood, but as soon as I'd had a fill, he was diving right back in, claiming me.

His lips were on a mission, smoothing along my jaw with his tongue in tow, tracing every curve my bones had to offer. When he got to my ear, he bit, and I yelped in pleasure, my body arching instinctively off the bed.

"Do you think any other woman makes those sounds like you do?" he asked, his voice thick and husky in my ear, as his nose traced its curvature, his breath warming where his lips had been.

The " _Mmmm_ ," that escaped my lips was completely warranted.

When his tongue began to flick out, to wet the skin behind my ear, to suck at my pulse and to nip with his teeth, he continued, in that same way of conversation that was shared between his body and his words

"There is no…"

 _Kisses on my throat._

"...greater…"

 _His tongue, tracing the column from ear to shoulder._

"...sound in this world…"

 _His lips, wide and open, sucking along my collar bone. Moans vibrating between my lips and his shoulder where I had fitfully come to hide._

"...than your body underneath mine."

He peeled his beautiful mouth from my skin to adjust his body, and I squeaked in protest, nudging my nose against his skin.

"Do you understand that?" inches from my lips. My nod of approval, the _Mhm_ that was more a noise of pleasure than a note of sanction, had his lips encasing mine, sucking my bottom one between his with a pressure that had me wrapping my thighs to his hip bones, clawing at his hair, and arching my body into his as another wave of _Ohhh_ ripped through me.

In continuing fashion, he ripped my t-shirt forcibly over my head, taking a moment to kneel above me and devour me with his eyes. His hands covered me in symmetry, palms spread on either side of my rib cage, moving slowly upward to palm my breasts. I was going to have cuts in my bottom lip from its time spent between my teeth tonight.

"Your body is so _perfect_."

 _Thumbs and fingers pinching my nipples, squeezing my breasts with a delicious amount of pressure, pain and pleasure, my body screaming for more of it._

"It's like a temple, Pam."

 _His full lips, swollen from kissing me everywhere, everywhere, everywhere, now suckling the skin between my breasts, tasting the sweat there with his tongue._

" _My_ temple."

 _His lips, closing over my breast, wasting no time between tongue and teeth and pressure pressure pressure. His hands, squeezing the other, doing its best to keep up._

"Let me worship like I know I can."

Tongue, flicking back and forth. Lips suckling so hard my head might pop off at the seams. Words like fuckand Jim and incoherencies scraping my vocal chords. I could've come if he kept it up.

When his kisses left my breasts and mapped a path down my torso, I was hit with cool air on painted skin, the chill twitching through my body in a way that shocked me from my haze of pleasure to truly take a look at this man.

His hair, a deep shade of mocha under the dark of night, tickling along my body as he made his way down.

Those hands, the ones that reached for jelly beans and held me at night, making fingerprints all over my skin from the way that they pushed into me, held me, elicited sounds I wasn't even sure were human.

When he peered up at me with hooded eyes, it was all there: the unadulterated passion, dedication, _love love love_ that he had for no one but me. I was a fool for ever letting a contradicting thought cross my mind.

My pants were peeled from me and tossed without care as his lips found the skin below my navel and continued writing their manuscript of worship with his tongue at the helm. He traced every bone in my pelvis while his hands rubbed soft circles into the skin of my hips, tickled the insides of my thighs up and down in rapid succession.

I was so worked up now that my body was acting of its own accord. Physical Pam had a need that overshadowed Mental Pam's doubts.

When his tongue dove in, tracing my dripping slit from top to bottom without warning, my groan was guttural, that string of _Unnngggghhh_ so foreign a concept that I could do no more that grind into his lips and hold on tight.

Those lips, so full, encased me wholly, sucked at my skin that was so slick to the touch, I wasn't sure he could actually feel it himself. The noises in my lungs were so pathetic now, squeaks and sighs full ledger lines above octaves I never thought I could reach.

When his body, still half clothed, covered mine, his lips brushing against my nose, I could feel how hard he was, could feel the pulse of his cock through his pants as it thrummed against my hip.

"You are the sweetest taste my tongue has ever known."

His words dripped like I must've been doing onto the fingers that massaged me while his tongue was otherwise occupied, searching for mine, letting me taste myself on him, to know his truths, to share this way in which he knew me so intimately.

When his fingers slid inside of me, I thought it was done, that I was so geared up I would ruin the moment by ending this beautiful masterpiece he was trying to paint me, but he kept his movements teasing for the first time that night. I could feel his long fingers sliding so languidly in and out, the sharp contrast to the fever in his kisses, in the way his tongue lapped within me like he was parched in the middle of the desert.

Then too soon, he was gone, the fingers I had laced in his hair while we kissed following him directly to my center, where his tongue continued its quest to quench the thirst that he had for me.

"I can't believe how wet you get for me sometimes, Pam," he mouthed against my lips, his tongue a faint whisper, just the tip, inside and back out.

"It drives me wild that _I_ get to do this to you now."

 _Fuller now, that long tongue reaching up inside me, wiggling forward with the thrusts of my hips._

"That you let me…"

 _His lips around my clit, just a faint kiss; my lungs whining and high pitched, craving more. Hips grinding, so high on the bed now that my neck is all that supports me._

"...know you like this. Let me…"

 _His fingers, three now, beckoning so quickly that my vision goes black._

"...know you so closely. That you do this only for me."

 _His tongue flicking out, drumming against my clit like a cadence. My hands in his hair, pulling pulling pulling because he can't be close enough, won't ever be close enough._

"I can't believe I get to sit here and be the one to make you come."

But he doesn't.

He stops.

My heart rate right now would have hospital staffs on alert. My body, slick with sweat, is literally trembling, my hips jutting at open air as he puts distance between us, enough so that the heat radiating from my body isn't shared with him, but rather visible in waves between us.

His pants are gone now, and when I see him hard and standing outward, I know that while I love every part of what he's done to me, I only want to know him in one way tonight.

He reaches out, pulls me up by my wrists so that I'm standing on my knees with my nose in his chest and our hips almost touching. But he keeps a hand on my stomach, keeping us parted despite the protesting noises that wind in my throat.

My hand, guided by him, covers his cock, his hard, hot, throbbing member, that he squeezes over my hand while he palms my cheek with the other, forcing my to look him dead in the eyes.

"No one, _no one_ , has ever done this to me the way that you do."

He's moving us now, our hands stroking him upward at a pace that can only be described as tantalizing. He must be clinical if he isn't reacting, the way he restrains himself when he squeezes both of our hands around the tip.

"You are the only woman to make me this crazy."

I nod, the feel of my chin grasped in his fingers shifting with the motion, our hands continuing to work him up and down. In his only moment of weakness tonight, he throws his head back and moans, this long, low sound that almost has me coming, before he's got me pinned to my bed.

My lips are encased by his the moment he pushes into me, and I feel our lips vibrate together as a string of _Ahhh_ coarses through my bloodstream. He isn't slow tonight, isn't gentle, isn't soft and sweet.

No.

Tonight, he's possessive.

Marking his territory, with his lips, his hands, his hips thrusting into me with a force that has our bodies making music like a drumline.

My hands are instantly in his hair, at his back, simply holding, but clinging would be a better word.

He pushes into me while one hand holds my back and the other steadies him at my waist, the slapping of our skin matching the volume of his own _Ohh's_ that come with every thrust.

Then, he's lifting my leg, stealing it from its grip around his waist to deepen the angle, straightening it high into the air and raising his own body to balance on his shoulder.

He holds me at the ankle, his nose pressed against my skin there, lips skirting my bones as he continues to push somewhere deep inside of me that I didn't know existed. I was making some sort of noise on every thrust, but he's moving so quickly now that I can't keep up, can only bite my lip and groan and turn my cheeks into the pillow before I pass out.

When he throws my leg over his shoulder and meets the side of my neck, the one exposed, with open lips, I feel his voice more than I hear it.

"You are it for me, Pam Beesly. No one will ever do this to me the way that you do."

And his thumb is on my clit, so unnecessary now, because my hips are jumping off the bed, my consciousness swirling upside down and backwards as I writhe into him, against him, with him. No sooner are my walls pumping around him than I feel him warm and inside me, shooting with a force that makes him hold on more tightly to keep us together.

He's moaning too, this long, low string of sounds against my throat while his lips try to find purchase on any skin they can find. His rhythm is slowing now, to what we would be if it were any normal night, any night where my insecurities weren't playing tricks on me and making this poor man have to prove himself unnecessarily.

But after _that_ performance, I think I'll hide my guilt for a little while longer.

He stays inside of me, our bodies sticky as he softens, catches onto breath that sounds like he just ran a marathon.

His cheek is sealed between my breasts with sweat, his mouth an _O_ of inhales and exhales, his eyes half open, his arms wrapped around my like a vice.

My leg has managed to slink down from his shoulder, now wrapped around his upper torso, my fingers tangled in his hair like they're about to stay for 12 hours and reveal beautiful curls when they're all done.

I'm first to regain some sort of consciousness that isn't ravaging intimacy, so I bury my nose in hair that smells less like the shampoo he used this morning and more like sweat, but I kiss him anyway.

Time goes by aimlessly, and I don't know how much has passed when he slides up my body, peels himself from within me, and just cradles me to his chest in this way of kissing that is slow, languid, and actually very desperate. His eyes are closed, I notice, but I can see the way that he's pinching them, as if he's trying to keep in tears, so I stop, force him back, and just hold onto him.

"You mean... _so_ much to me, Pam. I can't...do you not…"

I _shush_ him, my lips warm on _his_ ears now, as I take over the role of _someone having to prove something_ that he should have never been in in the first place.

"I'm so sorry, baby." It's a start, anyway. "I...I just love you so much. I guess...sometimes, I just get caught up in how much we lost when…"

He's so patient. We got this all out _months ago,_ and yet here I lay, still holding onto all of these regrets that are really less of _him_ and more of _me_. But I need to say it. He needs to hear it. To hear how much I need him.

"You should have never been with her."

It sounds so pathetic, like I'm some raging jealous nark who can't let go of the past, but before he can get the wrong impression, my whispers continue.

"I shouldn't have let you leave. I let you go, Jim. I _let you walk away_. It was all my fault. It was all my fault."

And now I'm breaking, shattering into a million pieces that he's trying to desperately to glue back together with his hands and his arms and the way he's holding me as I sob against his chest. His lips, so aggressive and all consuming not moments ago are now soft and loving and piecing me back as they meet the skin of my temple, my cheek, my forehead.

When I've finally calmed down, too exhausted to do much more of anything but lay limp in his arms, he nudges my cheek, runs his nose along my skin in this gesture that is so much more intimate than any way we've been all night long that I almost cry again.

"Hey. Hey, hey hey. Listen to me. We're here now, okay?"

I'm looking at him, but with more effort of his body hovering into my line of sight than any twitch of my own exhausted muscles.

"We're here now. And _here_ is the only place we'll ever need to be."

I should've known all along. But now, in his arms, I know better than ever that this man owns my heart, and I his.


	16. Chapter 16

**The Thankful One**

"Nope. You're not wearing that. You can't wear that."

Jim hadn't so much as opened both of his eyes simultaneously-it was, after all, only 8:30 on Thanksgiving morning-but already he was being physically shoved backwards into his bedroom, the one with the still unmade bed and the pair of boxers he'd worn to sleep last night balled in the middle of the floor. Pam didn't typically care, though. Oddly, something they only began to realize once they started actually dating, was that they were both kind of slobs.

So as he stumbled back down the hallway, still wiping the sleep from his eyes, he was a little concerned with the way that she was pulling his comforter tight against the headboard after taking a pair of his tan work slacks from the closet and hefting them roughly into his palms with a curt _Put these on instead._

It was all followed with another quick rummaging through his clothes, where she handed him a fresh button down and a sweater he didn't dare wear to any family function that his nana wasn't invited to, since she was the one who'd given it to him in the first place. Affectionately, he called it his "Bill Cosby sweater." Unaffectionately, he called it t _hat ugly sack of trash_ and hid it in the back of the closet.

While he blinked the remaining sleep away and ditched his previously ensemble of dark wash jeans and a charcoal sweater (that was _perfectly acceptable for Thanksgiving at the Beesly's, thank you very much_ ), his bedroom somehow became spotless in the time it took for one shirt to come over his head and the other to replace it. Before he was able to respond to the fact that he could actually see his bedroom floor, Pam's fingers were pulling at his hair, and not in a way that he typically enjoyed.

"I knew we should've gotten you a haircut earlier in the week. Do you think anywhere is open? Ugh, no, that's a stupid question. Come here, I'll see what I can do."

Jim's eyes widened as Pam dragged him through his apartment for the second time in a span of five minutes.

"Uh, babe, no offense or anything, but I don't think we're at the point in our relationship where I trust you with anything sharp near my face."

His wide eyed expression and the hint of joking in his tone went entirely unnoticed as Pam pushed him so that his butt was resting against the countertop, his hands perched backwards on either side, as she pulled a bottle of product out from under his the sink.

"Don't be silly. We don't have time for that."

He was still waking, admittedly, as he watched her fingers push and pull his hair into some sort of shape that he could feel stiffening. The lines between her eyes connected the dots of concentration and worry, and when she nodded curtly, the only indication in her expression that she was at all satisfied with her work, he grabbed her wrists before she was able to turn on her heels.

"Hey," he whispered softly, his voice still trying to rid itself of sand and sleep. "Good morning. Happy Thanksgiving."

Her lips were unmoving, stiff at first under his pleads, her hands now flat against his chest in an effort to push him away. But eventually he felt her relax, her lips melting and opening in a sigh against his, so small that he only felt it as a puff against his own. But just as he was beginning to relax, to pull her into him by the small of her back, she was pushing him away more firmly this time, her smile equal parts insistent and apologetic.

Her hands came up to cup his cheeks, thumbs brushing high on his cheekbones as he traced the curve of her face from lips to eyes.

"Happy Thanksgiving, baby. You need to shave."

And with a quick smile, she was gone, sashaying out of his bathroom without so much as a goodbye kiss. He didn't know whether he should worry or chuckle, so he settled on a combination of both as he washed his face, brushed his teeth, and shaved the day's worth of barely there stubble from his cheeks. The sight in his kitchen finally caused him to pause.

Pots and pans were piled high in the sink, and no sooner was Pam bending to pull something from his oven than she was upright and pushing supplies back into his fridge. He hadn't noticed before, when he was still partially in dreamland with his hair tangled in her fingers, that her ensemble looked a little peculiar itself. While she usually donned skirts that gave her a bit of shape, sweaters that modestly showed her curves, maybe a dip of skin, her black jumper atop a purple turtleneck, accompanied by _tights_? threw him for a loop whose finish line screamed _Angela Martin_. Of course, that thought stayed behind his lips, as he rolled up his sleeves and set to work on the dishes without so much as a word.

"Oh, god, thank you. I could use an extra hand," she breathed out, her heels clicking across the linoleum as she packaged another dish whose smell was making his lips positively water. The rush of clicking didn't stop until he turned the water off, dried down the counter, and turned to put the last spoon in the drawer.

"So?" was all he had to say before her flustered, upright, arms crossed posture was deflating, fresh tears brimming at what he knew was carefully painted mascara and eyeliner.

"This has to be perfect, Jim. It just...today _has_ to go well."

She was folding herself against him, her lips now furled into a pout that would have made him giggle and tease her had she not been so genuinely upset.

"Hey," he chuckled. "It's okay, Bees. I've met your parents a dozen times. I'm pretty sure if they didn't like me, they'd have said something by now."

He kissed the top of her head and stroked his fingers up and down her spine.

"It's not _them_ I'm worried about," she huffed back. "It's Meemaw."

Well, that certainly explained the errant behavior. He hugged her tightly before pulling her from his chest, forcing her to look him in the eye.

His smile was warm, his fingers stamping reassurances as they tickled up and down her forearms.

He had heard the gambit of warning stories about the infamous Meemaw from all sides of the Beesly family over numerous Sunday dinners. But today was the first day he was about to come face to face with all of Pam's worries. Her parents had loved him from day one. Penny took immediately to pawling around and treating him like another sibling. Meemaw was last on his list to impress.

He wasn't worried. Grandma's _loved_ Jim Halpert.

So instead of focusing on how his slicked back hair was already giving him a headache or that he really, really hated this sweater, he did his best to listen, to comfort, to tuck his needs away for twenty-four hours.

He opted for _What can I do?_ Instead of Calm down or It'll be fine, would you just relax?

Because those things sounded so much more like a distant time in her life, and he wanted to do everything in his power to make this holiday perfect for her.

She was sighing, thanking him, asking that he help finish up cleaning before they took off in an hour for her parent's place. He didn't question why she suddenly wanted to deep clean his apartment when they weren't even having guests over, he just did as he was asked with a smile on his face.

Her knee bounced the entire ride from Scranton to Carbondale despite the fact that he kept his fingers massaging gently over the top of her tights.

He gave her fingers a reassuring squeeze as they walked up the front steps, opening the door wide for her as she ducked under his arm into her parent's home.

The first thing he noticed was a new tension in the Beesly family room. He'd been here dozens of times by now, for weekend dinners, Sunday brunches, or just to help Mr. B with some yard work while the women gossipped over iced teas. But never once had the air felt thick, the kind that you could almost see if you focused your eyes enough.

She was dressed in a brown business suit, a shiny turkey brooch pinned to her lapel, not a hair out of place.

It took every ounce of strength in his body to repress a shudder.

Jim Halpert, tamer of grandmothers, was suddenly terrified.

He saw himself being sized up from the dainty yet intimidating woman who was perched stiff-backed in an armchair, wondering if he truly should have ironed his pants or worn a tie.

Even Mr. and Mrs. B seemed less laid back, a tie around Mr. Beesly's neck, the usual clutter around the house mysteriously tucked away.

He slipped his shoes off and set down the hot dishes that he held in his arms before clearing his throat and extending a hand.

"Hello, Meemaw. Happy Thanksgiving. It's so nice to finally meet you."

Her cold, blue eyes inspected him like an ant beneath a magnifying glass, her perfectly burgundy lips pursed into a button.

"Pamela. Get this boy a haircut."

And with that, she was standing, brushing her lap with both hands, and turning towards the kitchen.

"And take those dishes off Helene's nice hardwood. The heat will warp it."

It was at that point in the early afternoon that Jim finally began to understand Pam's frustrations. His shoulders sagged just a little as he glanced down to find Pam's lips pulled down in slight disappointment.

The remainder of the afternoon continued in terse fashion, a similar sizing up occurring when Penny showed up with her boyfriend Kevin. The men passed back knowing looks as they observed the outfits that both had been dressed in. Kevin didn't _need a haircut,_ but his _Sweater could use a date with a lint roller_ and they were apparently going to be _Late for their own funeral_ despite the fact that dinner still wouldn't be ready for another hour.

Jim found himself asking for water over the wine that was offered in an attempt to avoid any open door for scrutiny that day. But instead of trying to go out of his way to impress Meemaw, he found himself focused on doing what he always did when he was at the Beesly's: Helping Mrs. B in the kitchen, insistent that the men should wash the dishes since the women had slaved all day. Getting Mr. B a beer when he was close to being out, calling him _Sir_ as he always did. He pulled Pam's chair out as she took her seat at the table, and did the same for Meemaw, if only to be polite. He stood at the table whenever a woman would stand, got up to pass the gravy when it would've been a reach to hand it past an entire table of guests.

He went to the kitchen when the basket of dinner rolls was running low to refill it and brought in a fresh bottle of wine along the way without being asked. All the while, he could sense Meemaw's eyes following him, but he did his best to pay no mind, to go with the flow and be the typical _Jim_ that the Beesly's had become accustomed to.

At the conclusion of the meal, after Jim had nudged Kevin to help him clear the dishes and load the dishwasher and double check what the good China was that would have to be hand washed, after dessert had been had and stomachs were full and actual laughter was finally making its way around the table, Mr. Beesly clinked his glass of scotch to call attention to the table.

It went this way every year in the Beesly household, the tradition of recounting the year's events and what you were thankful for.

Pam had gotten used to her mother's and father's speeches. Dad was short, sweet, and to the point: _My family, this roof over our heads, and the Philadelphia Eagles._ Mom was more long-winded, tears pricking in her eyes as she spoke about her _Wonderful family_ that was _healthy_ and _happy_ and _all together for the holidays._

Jim held in a breath as he watched Kevin fumble with his own words, thankful for the _Lovely meal_ and _the chance to spend time with the Beesly family this holiday._ But as the line made its way to him, the words didn't so much get caught in his throat as they did float from him, because he was talking about the topic in his life that he knew could truly write novels about.

"I want to give thanks for this day, and for the opportunity to spend it with all of you. For the lovely meal that Mrs. B slaved over, and for the company that you've provided. My family is kind of spread out all over the state, and it's hard now for everyone to get together for Thanksgiving dinner, so the fact that I get to be here with all of you today is something I cherish."

Pam was squeezing his thigh now, and he linked their fingers together as he continued.

"But, most of all, and I know this is going to be a little biased but, I am so, so thankful for this lovely woman right here."

He moved his hand then, letting it rest on her chair at the small of her back.

"I've known in my heart that I loved Pam for a very long time, but this year, I was finally to open up and let that love live between us. She let me in, and quite honestly, that's what I am the most thankful for. For the opportunity that I have to love her, and be loved by her, and share my life with her. She's the reason that my days are so much brighter, and my life has purpose. I...really, I can't say how grateful I am that you've let me have this life that I couldn't have even imagined in my wildest dreams. I love you, Beesly."

She was crying now, and so was Mrs. B, and even Penny was blinking rapidly as it all passed him by, his eyes fixed on the woman to his right who was burying her freshly spun curls into his shoulder.

Pam sputtered something back, rushed and still on the verge of tears, how she was thankful for _Family_ and _friends_ and _This wonderful, wonderful man who I don't even deserve_ , before Mr. B was saying something Kevin about _Taking lessons from Jim,_ and everyone was laughing, and the party was moving to the living room.

Football was on, and board games were opened amongst the wine that he eventually palmed, limiting himself to one glass only. Across the room, he could've sworn he saw the hint of a smile on Meemaw's face.

It wasn't until dusk was falling over the quiet neighborhood, dark purple hues falling across the carpet through the picture window, that Penny and Kevin had plans to split between families that night, and Mr. B was putting on his boots to drive Meemaw home. Jim glanced over to smile at Pam, but his lips and eyebrows scrunched as he noticed an expression on her face that could only say _disappointment_.

As he helped her into her coat, and handed Meemaw her purse, the older woman beckoned for him to come down to her level before speaking.

"You're a good man, James. You make my granddaughter happy."

He smiled warmly, clasping Meemaw's small, cold hand in both of his.

"Thank you, Meemaw. I'm glad that I could spend the holiday with you and your family."

"You still need a haircut."

And then, she was leaving, holding onto Mr. B's arm as he led her down the driveway.

Jim laughed, a smile now permanent in his expression and he mirrored their embrace, escorting Pam to his car after saying a thorough round of goodbyes.

He couldn't help but notice the quietude in the car, the way her eyes were still downturned as they drove the twenty-five minutes across town.

"I had a really nice time," he said, breaking the silence, linking their fingers and squeezing her hand before kissing her knuckles.

"Yeah, me too."

She was quiet though, her words disappearing into the sounds of the road.

He had to ask.

"Alright, Beesly. What's up?"

She twitched, forcing her downturned lips to smile.

"Nothing," came out, equally as forced, before she was pushing air from her lungs and flopping back into the seat.

"Nothing, it's just...we have- _had_ -this tradition where, after Meemaw left, we would go see a movie. But we haven't all been together for the past couple of years, so I just figured we might go today. And I wanted you to get to be apart of that. But then daddy left and Penny left, and I really shouldn't be pouting because I had a _wonderful_ day, but-"

No sooner was he chuckling and squeezing her hand than they were turning off at the next exit.

Her eyes lit up, beaming as brightly as the marquee on the movie theater that he parked in front of.

She was stuffed, but he knew that about halfway through the previews she'd want a bucket of popcorn, so he stopped before they found their seats in the back of the empty theater.

"So, this is what the Beesly's do on Thanksgiving, huh?" he whispered against her hair, kissing above her ear as she nuzzled against his arm.

She turned, resting her cheek against his arm so that her wide, green eyes were peering up gratefully in the darkness.

"Thank you," she whispered.

The previews began, and her hands were in his lap where the popcorn bucket rested, butter most definitely seeping onto his clean pants.

But as _The Santa Claus 3_ boomed into the hollow room, whose only patrons were tucked into their own little world, he let his hands drift ever so slightly from her shoulder to her waist, his nose brushing the side of her head when she tucked herself into him from across the arm rest.

When his fingers began to stretch up and down her thigh, he felt her breath cut in sharply, felt the way that she scooted so that his hands were forced to inch higher on her legs.

It wasn't until she was lifting the arm rest between them and snuggling flushly against him that his body was hot suddenly beneath his jacket, the skin on his neck beaded with sweat and condensation from where she was breathing heavily against it.

He adjusted his body so that his hands could reach her better, letting his pointer finger trace the seam of her tights from the inside of her thigh all the way up her leg. With each pass up and down, he felt her breath hitch a little higher, her body worm its way more tightly against him. But it wasn't until he was kneading her skin with his thumb and pointer finger both that the smallest of sighs escaped from her, that she was gripping onto the lapels of his jacket, that he realized there were no other people around them.

He kissed her temple, gazed down at her with half-lidded eyes, before the top of his pointer finger began to stretch its way back and forth across her center. His touch was light, but present enough to have her head twitching against his arm, her fingers pressing more insistently into the grip they had on his forearm.

Adding more pressure, he adjusted their bodies so that he could more easily reach her, could push against her more insistently where her panties were dampening right through her tights. As the movie played on in the background, he paid no mind to fake Santa drama, focusing solely on the way the tiny mewls were coating her throat and his ears. When he pinched her clit between his thumb and finger, she bit down on his earlobe and yelped, " _God_ , Jim, just _rip them_."

It wasn't the first time he'd considered pulling her into his lap in public, but it _was_ the location where they'd be most on display. So, pushing his own needs to the back of his head, he kissed her firmly on the mouth, coaxed her tongue against his while he pulled at the already slick and straining fabric and ripped a sizable hole at the crotch, wasting no time at all before slipping two fingers into her.

She moaned against his lips, tearing away then to hide away in his shoulder and hold on for the ride.

Despite the large movie screen before them, he kept his eyes trained on her body, on the way she was bucking and pushing against his fingers, on the way that her eyes were fluttering and her brows were arching higher and higher on her forehead. By the time he was crooking his way up and scooping his thumb against her clit, it was all over.

She kept her shouts muffled, drawing out a long, low groan that was swallowed by the wool of his jacket.

He continued to massage her softly for the minutes after, nothing but light touches, just to bring her down. She would buck against him occasionally, tucking her nose against his shoulder each time. He actually watched a few minutes of the movie before she was turning her cheek against him, cupping his chin, pulling his lips against her.

By the time he was pulling his fingers from her and wiping them haphazardly on the leg of his pants, she was already working at his fly. But he stopped her, closing his own fingers over the top of her before moving her hand away.

She fought with him a handful of other times throughout the rest of the movie, but each time, he insisted against, still a little wary of exposing himself so fully even if they were alone.

She was asleep five minutes into the car ride, which made him laugh, because she was asleep with her hand between his legs. Wordlessly, he linked their fingers and held on until they were home.

He didn't so much care that she sleepwalked into his apartment, barely pulling a t-shirt over her head before passing out against a pillow. It gave him all the time in the world to watch her as he drifted off to sleep.

Friday morning was so much more laid back, as he blinked awake to mid-morning sun and Pam nuzzled against his chest. He had every intention of letting her sleep, of watching her basked in golden light, but as soon as she was shifting against his body, her knee brushing against his crotch, he had other plans.

He planted kisses on her forehead, her cheek, before scooping her body higher to pepper her throat with soft, wet laps of his tongue. When she began to turn into his touches, he flipped her softly onto her back and pressed his body against hers, loving the way that her eyes fluttered against his throat before she wrapped her hands around him.

"Mmm, mornin'," she whispered, grabbing onto his hips as he rocked slowly against her.

"Good morning."

He was lifting her shirt, kissing from her navel up to where her bare breasts were already peaking under his touch and the slight chill in the air. His hands covered her then, pinching at her nipples until they were hard to the touch before his tongue took lapping strokes against her tight skin.

"Did you sleep well?" he asked between kisses across her chest.

"Mmm, so good," she breathed, wrapping her legs around his waist, her fingers threaded into his hair that still held remnants of gel from the day before.

It was then that she pulled his face back up her body, ditching his oversized Eagles shirt that she slept in before grabbing him by the cheeks to assault his lips.

His tongue was lapping at hers as she all but ripped his own pajamas from his body, shoving his boxers down his legs with her feet while her hands clawed at her back.

"A little eager there, slick?" he chuckled as he peeled her panties away, finding her warm and wet already.

"I seem to remember _some_ body refusing to let me get him off yesterday at the movies. _God_ , did I want to make you come last night."

He coughed, pushing his body up so that he was hovering above her.

" _Jesus, what_ have you done with my sweet girlfriend?"

He saw a hint of blush creep up her chest, in her eyes, before she was settling back into that look that told him she wanted to devour him with her eyes.

"What? You didn't know your _sweet girlfriend_ likes talking dirty sometimes?"

"Ap _parently_ not, but you learn something new everyday," he whispered back, trying to hide the amazement at her admission in his wide eyes.

As he settled his lips at her ears, a new string of words ready on his tongue, his hard tip pressing insistently against her body, there was a deafening pounding at his front door.

His eyes went wide, and her lips turned into a pout for a split second before she was pulling him back down, guiding him to her, and sucking his earlobe into her mouth while whispering _Leave it._

 _"Jimmy, open up! We've gotta be on the road in like, twenty minutes!"_

Leave it to Larisa to kill the mood, and have Pam wide eyed, too.

He signaled for Pam to get the door, noting that he was _A little incapacitated at the moment,_ and watched her pull on a pair of yoga pants and a t-shirt before letting his kid sister into the apartment.

Because the Halpert clan was so widespread, with both of his brothers married and attending the in-laws' Thanksgiving dinners the day of, Jim's extended family had adopted Black Friday as the Official Halpert Family Thanksgiving Extravaganza, a day where you weren't allowed inside his Aunt Marge's house unless you were in pajamas, pizzas a mile high covered the kitchen, and his cousins all tried to drink one another under the table.

The way he saw it, they could roll out of bed and get on the road.

But apparently his sister had other plans.

In his own defense, he forgot that they were riding together.

His aunt lived in _middle of nowhere hunting town Pennsylvania_ , so it made no sense to take two separate cars the entire two and a half hour ride across the state.

"So, what exactly am I in for here?" Pam asked after about an hour on the road.

"You've been to my parent's house for Thursday night dinner, right?" Larisa asked from the middle seat in the back of Jim's car.

"Yup."

"Just imagine that, but on crack. Times a hundred. With a lot of sangria."

"Don't forget the animals," Jim added.

" _Right_. They have like, four cats, two dogs, and I'm pretty sure they got a horse over the summer."

"A _horse_?"

"Yep. Marge's boyfriend had a little extra cash to spend, and since they have the land and no children to spend it on, he figured _why not_?"

"No more questions though, Beesly," Jim chimed in. "This is one day you're going to just have to experience for itself. Trust me. You can't really really prepare for what you're about to see."

And he was right.

Aunt Marge's house was truly in the middle of nowhere, shaded by rows of trees that overlapped the sky above. There were cars everywhere, parked all over the front lawn. Before they had even parked his car, a football was flying past the passenger side window, and four tall boys all ranging in age and wearing beanies and sweatshirts followed in a heap.

She head _JIMBO!_ ring out from several different directions, and as she and Larisa gathered their bags from the backseat, her boyfriend was being tackled to the ground in a dogpile of very tall people.

Pam had to laugh at the difference in their family affairs. Jim was right when he said she _just had to experience this for itself._

For one, there were people _everywhere_. The house, a massive log cabin with high ceilings and three stories, had people and animals tumbling out of every room. The kitchen was filled to the brim with food and drink, and kids were running up and down stairs, in and out of rooms, shouting and laughing and bickering with one another all in good fun.

What she really enjoyed was that, no matter where she sat, she was welcomed immediately and warmly. There was something about the Halpert family that just exuded what she'd always imagined in a family. Not that she disliked her own, by any means. But Jim's parents each came from big families, and his cousins all had families of their own, so there was always someone to talk to and hang with. The women poured her more and more sangria and the men played football and watched football and argued about football.

Later in the afternoon, the kids all went out onto the property in the back and took four wheelers around the fields. Jim asked if she wanted to go out, and she beamed immediately, holding onto his waist for the whole ride. She'd had enough of his cousin's sangria to not trust herself driving it, but he let her pull it back in, and with him seated behind her all warm and fuzzy with his arms wrapped around her waist, she was beginning to wonder if she couldn't take it out for a little while longer.

His family was full of people who were very loud and spoke their mind, and when they pulled out a crude card game, it took her a moment to realize they didn't mind the _That's what she said_ jokes, and she wormed her way right into their sense of humor.

Her body felt warm as they ate and laughed and had more to drink, warmer still as Jim tucked her against him and played with her hair and kissed the top of her head.

Although the offer always stood that anyone could spend the night, and several of his single cousins had already pulled out air mattresses and blankets, Jim brushed off his aunt and gave her a big hug and kiss goodbye before escorting Pam to his car.

Larisa was hitching a ride back with his parents, who had shown up late, and as the edges around Pam's vision remained fuzzy with the buzz of alcohol, she let her mind and her hands wander.

At first, it was just her hands tangled in his as he blasted the radio and they sang along at the top of their lungs. But once they had been on the road for an hour, the darkness of country back roads without street lamps hiding them away from the rest of the world, she ventured more.

She toyed with his hair, loving the way that he'd let it fall today while he played football with his cousins and flattened it with a Phillies beanie. She pulled at its ends, massaging his head as she tousled the chocolate brown silk. Then, she was massaging his shoulder, the one closest to her, moving the seat belt to knead at his skin.

"Oh, that feels really good, actually," he breathed, smiling at her from the corner of his eyes. "Maybe you could do that some more when we get home."

"You played hard today, baby," she said, shifting in her seat to reach more of him. "You deserve a little love, too."

Of course, he had no idea what she meant until her lips were on his neck and her fingers were wrapping around his thigh and squeezing him.

Little _Mmm's_ and _Oh's_ breathed past his lips while she continued her slow trek of his skin. It wasn't until she was palming him directly, her hand squeezing the crotch of his flannel pajama pants where he twitched against her immediately, that he was pulling away.

"Hey, handsy, I'm driving here," he choked back, breathy and short, half-heartedly pushing her away.

"Yeah? I'm not."

She gripped him fully, feeling his semi-hardness turn full against her strokes, so grateful then for the dress code of the Halpert family's festivities.

" _Ohh_ god."

He thrusted into her touch once, twice, three times, before he was turning his head and covering her hand with his large one, peeling her fingers from around him.

"Seriously, baby, you can't do that while I'm driving. I can't see anything out here as it is. We'll crash."

"Then pull over."

Being surrounded by fields and dirt paths, it wasn't hard for him to find a safe spot to pull the car over, kill the lights, and push his seat all the way back before lifting her onto him. Her lips were on his, her tongue demanding entrance, before he could even situate himself beneath her.

She felt so good, so warm and light and wonderful, as she wrapped one arm around his back, the other cupping his cheek while she explored his mouth and moved her body against him. His cock was trapped hard and heavy between them, and he pulled away for just a moment, chuckling low when she whimpered in protest.

"Hold on, let me just...there."

He adjusted himself, loving the way that she was grinding on him from back to tip, as his tongue sloppily met hers, moved along her jaw and across her neck. She stood then, her knees balanced on either side of his seat, with really no room to maneuver, as she tugged at his pants and did her best to move his to the side, too. But she was so close, so fitful already, that he stopped her frantic moves to shed them of clothing, and pulled her so that she was flush with him again.

She was rocking her body against his, her pants tangled somewhere at her knees as she dripped against the front of his exposed length, her lips buried against his neck as she whined and moaned and clung to his front.

He could feel her body heightening, knew that she was close, and as he slipped his hands into the back of her panties, as he squeezed her ass and heard _Oh shit, baby, god I love the way you feel,_ he remembered their conversation from earlier that morning.

 _What? You didn't know your_ sweet girlfriend _likes talking dirty sometimes?_

He angled his head, nudging her cheek with his nose so that he could capture her lips in his, to bite at her bottom lip while he continued to squeeze her ass and thrust against her.

"Shit, Pam, you feel so good when you move like that," he began, sucking on her lip and kissing the corners of her mouth.

Her little _Ahh_ and the way she pushed against him more told him that he was on the right path.

"Jesus, you're so wet, baby," earned him an _Mhm, god yeah_ , and her hands around his neck, gripping the skin tightly as she moved against him quicker.

He nudged her head then to trace her ear with his nose, kissing the skin below her ear as he felt her begin to jerk erratically against his body, knowing she was almost there.

"God, Pam, that's it. Come for me, come on my dick."

And then she was coming, so noisy and fast, her _Oh, fuck, Jim_ shattering his ear drum as she gripped his back and thrust against him hard and fast. He felt the wetness seeping through his pajamas, covering his hard cock as she started to slow. He was kissing her forehead, her temple, kneading her bare ass as she started to slow down. It surprised him when she was pushing herself off of him, moving into the seat beside him.

But then, she was pulling his pants down all the way and bringing him into her palm, spreading her own wetness over him before she pulled him into her mouth.

"Oh, _shit_ ," he called, immediately palming the back of her head as her lips met her palm, up and down and back again. She was sucking, letting her tongue flick out to hit his head each time she'd make it to the top.

When she pulled her head off of him with a pop and let her hand take over so that she could suck his balls between her lips, he thrust so high off the seat that his head touched the ceiling.

"God, fuck, Pam, seriously, I'm not gonna-"

And she was back in his lap, rubbing herself against him, shuddering when his tip hit her clit, before swallowing him whole.

They both let out loud groans, the cabin of the car vibrating as she began to move up and down with her hands perched on his shoulders. He buried his lips against her throat, his hands squeezing her breasts through her shirt, pinching her nipples. She was yelping with each thrust up and down, loving the way that he had angled his body and held her close so that he was rubbing against her in just the right way.

She could feel him swelling inside of her, and she removed his hands from her breasts, brought one to her ass and squeezed her hand over his, while she brought the other between them, letting him take over as she kissed his neck and up along his jaw.

"You feel so good, Jim," she started, her lips below his ear as she rocked against him. "God, you always make me come so hard. I wanna make you feel that way, baby."

His fingers were moving faster, his face contorting as he let incoherent sounds yelp from his parted lips.

" _Fuck_ , Jim, come inside me," she whispered, letting herself go against his fingers.

And he did, loud and hard and gloriously, as he thumped his hips up and against her, holding her body to his as he thrust erratically, spilling himself into her.

As their bodies slowed, and her body slunk down for her head to rest on his stomach, his chest expanded widely against her cheek.

It was some moments, the radio playing Christmas tunes softly in the background, before he was chuckling.

"Where in the hell did _that_ come from?"

She buried her face against his chest, laughed herself and somehow got out, "Your cousin's sangria."

He hugged her tightly, placed a sloppy kiss to the crown of her head, and reached into the glove box to grab a wad of napkins.

After they had cleaned up and resituated their outfits and pulled back onto the road, the rest of the trip back was a quiet, happy haze, with hands clasped together and goofy grins and kisses on fingers, and truly, truly full of thanks.


	17. Chapter 17

**The One That's Merry and Bright**

It's not that the _honeymoon is over_ , per say. Not at all. You still flush at the sight of each other, still get the butterflies in your stomach and the quickened heart rates and all that junk you only read about in trashy romance novels or see in movies. A quirk of his eyebrow can make the temperature spike to one-hundred degrees. A sly smile from her can render you immobile.

No, it's just that the monotony of life that has caught up with you both.

She started art classes this semester, and you're so, _so_ proud of her, because she truly is talented. And in an honest way. Not in a way that you say she is because you know your words will get her to jump your bones, but really and truly. She conveys her emotions in tempra strokes. They used to be somber, but now the colors are warm and bright and you can't help thinking that you had something to do with it.

His niece and nephews have t-ball and soccer and recitals and concerts, and there really isn't an unselfish reason to complain. You love them like they're your own, and they keep asking if you'll be back, making you pinky promise. You don't know if your heart flutters more from that simple action that solidifies you as _family_ , or from the way his grin is positively beaming down at you from where he's standing above as you bend down to ruffle their hair and link your tiny fingers together, the words _Pinky swear_ a whispering secret on your lips.

The holidays make it worse, with parties at work and parties with friends and parties with family. There's shopping and cooking and decorating, and between classes and business dinners and Michael's antics keeping you all late at the office, you're simply too tired to do much of anything besides fall asleep in each other's arms. Or with your backs pressed together. Or with his face sunk so low in the pillow that you're afraid he's actually going to suffocate, only reassured of his existence because the arm that has been haphazardly thrown across you twitches every so often.

But you miss each other. Immensely so. Not in the sense of pawing at one another like animals in heat and spending nearly all of your time together in nothing but underwear, but in the general sense of spending time with one another that doesn't involve aligning weekend schedules so that you can avoid pissing off both of your families while at the same time not losing your own sanities.

As you sit at your desk, watching him from behind the high counter, you can see his profile, the way it droops with exhaustion, the way his tired eyes barely lift enough to pass you a simple smile, one that also says _How much trouble do you think I'd be in if I crawled under this desk and passed out for a few hours?_ Your own eyes say _I know, baby, it'll get better soon._ Last night was his great-aunt's annual holiday bash, and despite the fact that it had fallen on a Thursday this year so that _everyone in the family could make it_ _,_ the relatives on his mom's side of the family still knew how to party. And since you two were among the youngest in attendance, it was nearing on two o'clock by the time they finally let you out the door.

Glancing down at the calendar on your desk, you're hit with the stunning realization that, for about the only day in this two month span, you have nothing written in that small white square. You did a double take, glancing up at him twice to see if he'd noticed. When he ventured into the kitchen, a presumably empty coffee cup in hand, his feet dragging like his shoes were filled with wet sand, you sauntered to his desk and noticed a similar gift on his calendar. Smiling contentedly to yourself, you opened up a blank spreadsheet in case anyone were to walk by while your mind wandered to the different ways that you could fill the blank white square.

She was up to something. She always got that look on her face when she was up to something. You were almost too tired to say anything, to walk over to reception and figure out just what was happening behind the green eyes that were sparkling with gold now. After a slow blink, and the realization that you couldn't really afford to stand and flirt-what, with your end of the year report staring you in the face all unfinished and junk-you opened up an IM window instead, figuring you could split your time.

 **JIM9334:** Watcha thinkin' about over there?

 **Receptionitis15:** Oh, nothing much. How are you? You look tired.

 **JIM9334:** You hit the nail on the head there.

 **JIM9334:** I actually debated crawling under my desk for 10 minutes. Do you think Dwight would notice?

You turn your head at the sound of her soft giggle, offering her a sheepish smile before you see her attention turn back towards her computer monitor.

 **Receptionitis15:** Hey, what do you say about getting out of here a little early? Maybe catching a quick nap before we get ready for tonight?

You panic for a second. There was no doubt that you had some sort of function tonight-you had for the past two months indefinitely, so tonight should be no different. They were all blending together. There would be no point in asking what it was you were going to tonight. You knew you'd be heading back to your place, throwing on one of the three sweater-and-slacks combinations that you'd been rotating, and buckling in for another night where you shared her with others for far too long. Instead, you sighed, letting your fingers clack against plastic.

 **JIM9334:** That doesn't sound bad, actually. I could probably use it. Excuses?

 **Receptionitis15:** We're tired and we really need to take a nap?

 **JIM9334:** Wow, so simple. Why didn't I think of that?

 **Receptionitis15:** -_-

 **Receptionitis15:** Keep up the attitude and I'll leave you here.

 **JIM9334:** So sorry. Grovelling at your feet. Please, continue.

She giggled again, but you have no energy left to lift your head, so you just stare at the monitor as _Receptionitis15 is typing…_ continues to blink, letting it lull you to sleep for a fleeting sixty seconds.

 **Receptionitis15:** Well, stick with me on this, but what if we just tell Michael we're taking a half a personal day? We've been totally swamped with everything, and we're just going to do it. No excuses. Plain and simple. To hell with his comments about us running home to jump into bed, because he won't *technically* be wrong. We both have the time saved up, and there's nothing pressing going on here today. Call me crazy, but I'm so not in the mood for pranky antics today. What do you say?

He turns in his seat, and the warm grin that actually brightens to his eyes-just the slightest bit-makes you stop chewing on your lip. When he sends back __ _ **I love you. Let's do it.**_ _ **,**_ you're already shutting down your monitor for the day.

His tie is barely halfway loosened before he's face down in the pillow on his side of your bed. His breathing is definitely slowed, but he's still conscious enough when you snuggle up next to him to plant the faintest kiss on your forehead and wrap his arms around you.

When you awaken to winter dusk at 4 PM, she's gone. Probably getting ready for whatever party or event it is that you'll inevitably have to show up for. You imagine her standing before the mirror, freshly showered, with a hot iron running curls through her hair. Maybe she's rubbing that plump red lipstick around her full lips, something that you'd come to miss, along with your normal sleeping schedule. The thought of her perched against the counter, bent forward so that she could see herself better in the mirror, has your mind wandering to those days not so long ago when she was leaning in a much different way, with her body slick from the shower and you pressing against her, hard and ready, your own reflections staring back from the mirror as you drove into her and fogged up the mirror that she'd just wiped clean.

You snap your eyes shut, squelching the imaging as quickly as it had come, because you don't need that on your mind tonight as you try to put on a happy face for…whoever it is that you'll be seeing. Still, you miss her touch, despite the fact that you were trying to forget it. Your sigh is loud and long as you push up from her bed, stretching your muscles from their state of delicious relaxedness as you head to her closet, the side that she's cleared for you displaying three neat sweaters that are taunting you. You don't even blink as you pluck one at random and throw it on over your head. With a switch of your dress pants and the run of a comb through your hair, you'll be done. No one is going to care if you don't clean up the stubble tonight.

You're disappointed to find that she isn't still getting ready as you splash water on your fingers to pull your tousled mop of hair into some semblance of _I promise I didn't just slip into a coma for four hours_ _._ It would have been nice to wrap your arms around her waist, to press your lips into the space that her dress left bare along her shoulder. But now, realizing that _most of these things start sometime around 5_ _,_ you're grateful that the distraction isn't present, because right now, with so much time passed since the last time you truly _felt one another_ _,_ you're not sure you'd make to...whoever's house, on time.

You find your shoes where you'd kicked them off two minutes ago to change your pants, slip your wallet into your back pocket, and roll your eyes one more time before making the short trip from hallway to kitchen. With your lips pursed in the same sense of confusion as your eyebrows, you let your eyes adjust to the low lights. Or, rather, the lack of.

After leaving him asleep in your bed, his expression in sleep so boyish and downright _cute_ _,_ you set to work. He always needed more time to recuperate in sleep than you did, often pulling the covers over his head and mumbling something along the lines of _Five more minutes_ at least twice a week. But today, you'd been so giddy with anticipation that you only napped for forty-five minutes before your eyes popped open. You savored fifteen to stare at him, because that was your god given right, and then slipped out of bed to prepare.

You gave yourself a long, hot, thorough shower and shave, using up all of the Bath and Body products that his relatives had given you (the gift that people give when they didn't really know you but want to look like they spent money on you), and let your hair air dry while you moisturized and lotioned your body, making sure every surface would run through his fingers like butter.

You had the fleeting thought of making him a five course, five star meal, but then, you'd both eaten enough hour d'oeuvres and Christmas cookies last night to last you a lifetime, and besides, Chinese takeout on the living room floor was suddenly severely lacking in both of your lives, so your coffee table is laden with white boxes and one set of chopsticks but one fork because Jim still couldn't operate a pair of chopsticks properly and it made him blush but you found it so endearingly adorable that most of the time you were giggling through every bite of fried rice.

There are candles on the tables and the bookshelves that smell like pine, because he had mentioned offhandedly one time that his parents didn't like maintaining a real tree but he'd always loved the smell, so instead of bringing out your coveted Christmas Cookie jars from Yankee Candle, you'd participated in one of those "Buy 3 Get 3 Free" sales so that you could see his smile even more often when he was around.

Christmas cookies cool on the rack on your counter, and despite the fact that you have the fan going in the living room, and despite the fact that you're wearing nothing but a red satin baby doll that matches his favorite shade of lipsticks, whose spaghetti straps are snug against your shoulders and under the pink silk robe that you bought on a whim once he started spending the night, you're still sweating a little with anticipation, because even though you _know_ each other and you _love_ each other and you _miss_ each other, you just want this to be perfect for him.

The only light on in the kitchen is the light underneath the microwave, and though your attention is first brought to the cookies cooling on the counter that she's probably bringing to the party that you're about to head to and that you'll undoubtedly steal at least three of before she smacks your hand and asks you to put them in Tupperware and you hit the road, a flurry of shiny pink pulls your tired eyes to the way she's gliding around the kitchen, and it takes no more than a few moments for you to realize that not only is she not dressed and ready to go, but that the living room is ablaze in candlelight. Then, it's only a matter of the pieces clicking together for you to realize what tonight truly has in store for you.

She's always so cute when she's flustered, and when she stops abruptly between the living room and the kitchen to spot you leaning against the door frame, her eyes are wide and her cheeks are rosy and she's clearly been caught in the act, and though you wish you could turn back the clock so that you came in just a few minutes later so that you wouldn't spoil her surprise, you like this moment just a little too much to hold onto that.

You can tell by the way that the corners of his eyes are turned down slightly, and that even though you heard the bathroom sink start up and can smell his cologne that his hair is still rumpled because honestly he probably wasn't going to put too much effort into wherever he thought you were going tonight, that he's still a little sleep drunk, and even though he momentarily stunned you on your way to grab two glasses and a bottle of wine, a smile curls at your red lips, one that matches the goofy grin of his that is lazily rolling up his left cheek.

His hands are in the pockets of his dress slacks, the ones that aren't perfectly pressed anymore because he wore them to your sister's Christmas party on Sunday, and when you'd gotten back that night, he had stepped right out of them and into the shower, and the next morning, they were still in a ball on the ground before you put them on the hanger they belonged to. He wore that grey sweater a week ago, and if you looked close enough, you could still see the faint purple of the lipstick on his shoulder where his drunk aunt had planted one on him.

Gazing across the lowest of lights and seeing his eyes gain a hint of their shine back, you have the slightest want to just jump him right there, to pull his soft cheeks between your palms and shove him against the wall that he's leaning on until you're both melded together. But no. You have other plans tonight. Plans to take things slow and spend your entire free night getting reacquainted with one another.

But after all this time getting ready and planning your evening, all you can muster up is a small, "Hey," as soft as the smile that it peeks through.

"Hey yourself."

You don't mean for your voice to come out so soft and innocent. Honestly, you kind of expected it to be groggy with sleep or jumping octaves like a prepubescent teenager. But instead, your tones kind of match each other's in the same way that they match the soft waves of candlelight that dances in shadows along the walls.

Her skin is as rosy as the robe that she dons, and you can't help but realize that no sliver of actual clothing surpasses the mid-thigh length of the pink silk.

You just stare at each other for a few moments before you start to creep forward, your shoes seeming clonky and out of place as they clop along the tile in her kitchen, and you say, "You wanna tell me what's going on?" as you cock a suggestive eyebrow.

She shrugs, so cute and innocent as she rolls her eyes to the ceiling. It reminds you for a moment of that night, when you marvelled at her from across the poker table, when she couldn't hide the truth to save her life. You're about to be sad, wistful for the time in your lives where you loved her but she couldn't admit it to even herself. But instead, the memory makes your entire body warm, and you're suddenly so overcome with love for her that you stop being so slow and tentative with the way that you're creeping towards one another and you stretch your long arms in the space between and pull her home.

It feels so, so good to have your lips pressed to his, to have his large hands spanning your back and beyond because you're so small and his hands are so big, but that only makes you smile more against his lips.

You're not sure how long you stand there, smiling into his kisses and pressing your fingers into his neck, but the time could be endless and it still wouldn't be enough.

"So," he said, the skin of his lips sticking to yours as he tried his best to kiss and converse at the same time. "No party tonight?"

"No. No party tonight."

"And were you planning on telling me this anytime soon?"

Her eyes are sparkling in the split second that you take to actually open yours, and her tongue pokes through her teeth in such a way that you can't help but taste it with your own, and the smallest of sighs is on her breath when you pull away, still hazy in her eyes long after the sound itself had disappeared.

"I was, actually," she said, still trying to keep her composure, which is so cute and so sexy all at the same time that you have to physically bite back a smile and just let her finish, because she had set this all up, after all. "You snuck down about five minutes too early though."

"My apologies. I guess my internal holiday alarm went off at _party starts in 20 minutes_ _o'clock._ I didn't know we were hosting tonight."

"We are. Halpert and Beesly, party of two."

It was the sexiest phrase she'd uttered all week.

"I like the sound of that."

The thing is, even though your only conversations as of late have been about which gift belongs to who and _are we bringing dessert or a side dish to your brother's house?_ this silence is actually nice. The way that she says how much she misses you with her eyes, and the feel of her knee against yours like its a permanent fixture, and the waggle in her eyebrows when she brings her chopsticks to your lips says so much more than the _I love you's_ that could be joining the flicker of candlelight and the aroma of orange chicken and royal icing as you sit on pillows on the floor in front of her couch.

When your body hungers for more than spices, your hands move deliberately to take the half empty carton from her hands and place it on the coffee table before replacing it with her cheek in one hand and her bottom in the other as you lift her into your lap.

His eyes are the shade of the fake coal that your dad bought your sister's boyfriend as a joke, but the weight of his body holding yours up is enough to make your head spin even though you've only had one glass of wine. His nose is brushing against yours and his thumb is brushing back and forth along your cheek while the other is now holding firmly to your side and the sensations are so overwhelming that when his lips are grazing yours, you can do nothing more than hold on for the ride, your fingers laying imprints around his neck.

His lips write all of the words that have gone unsaid in the past half hour, in the past weeks, really, while your hands massage his scalp and pull lightly at his hair. His tongue is sneaky, tracing your lips first before darting in just as quickly as it disappears, and you pull your body against his with a sigh into his open mouth, a plead for more that he greatly accepts with a smile against your lips.

Her bottom fits so well in your lap, her body so perfectly in your hands, that it's a wonder you let as much time pass between holding her as you did. Though the silk feels smooth under your fingers, her skin feels so much better, her thighs running beneath your fingertips like a blade along ice. While one hand refuses to stop touching her face, you palm her thigh, sneaking beneath the hem of her robe to find a lacy pattern that you're unfamiliar with and yet equally eager to see.

She's panting when you finally release her lips, though the way she's ducking her head back towards you says she wasn't quite done with you yet, the way that she is wiggling her hips against you reminding you that she has quite a bit planned for you in this evening. But you're stroking her cheek with the backs of your fingers and tickling the skin that leads from her thighs to the crease that meets her pantyline, and you're peppering the words, "I think you might be just a bit overdressed" beneath her ear as you force her to look you in the eyes while your hands drift to the tie of her robe.

But you steal his hands away, as gently as you can because your body is actually crying for his touch, but you want to do this for him, put on this little show, so you're putting his hands in his lap and standing on shaky feet as he spreads his legs that are probably falling asleep into the space between the couch and the coffee table. Once you're standing, you brush your freshly painted red toes against his leg, along the outside seam of his pants, before you take his hand again and place them on the tie of your robe. He's diligent and deliberate in the way that his fingers are brushing every bit of you that they can as he lets the tie fall.

You shiver when his fingers are pushing the sides apart, brushing underneath the robe and covering your abdomen as he runs them up along the insides, tickling up your rib cage and pausing so briefly on your breasts that you can't even bite your lip before his hands are on your shoulders and pushing it away.

Then you're being deliberate in the way that you step back, just far enough that you're out of his reach, and his eyes fall with his lips as if in desperation, which you know is true because he looks about the way same that you feel. But this will be worth it, and the look that you give him makes that promise.

She lets the robe fall to the crooks of her elbows, and you're hard just seeing the thin, shiny straps along her shoulders, the massive swells of her breasts being pushed to the point of almost flooding over the lacy red, the sheer material that pours your eyes straight to her abdomen, that sheer material that stops just short of the matching set of boy shorts that you're itching to dive your fingers into. When her robe pools around her feet and she's standing there in this outfit you've never seen before that she clearly bought for your eyes only, you can do nothing but sit there in shock, your hands twitching in your lap and your feet shaking to move as you just stare at this beautiful woman that you get to call yours.

She used to have this way about her that was shy and lacking confidence, always looking over her shoulder whenever she took a risk, just in case it wasn't worth it. But now she is bold, self-assured. Still, despite the way that she is standing nearly bare before you, the shape of her lips sexy and the way that she has one eyebrow cocked making your pants twitch, her eyes still hold a small fraction of shyness, one that you immediately want to take away.

He's on his knees, after a moment that you can only label as shock with his eyes wide and his jaw hung low. When his hands are gripping around your waist and his head is stretching slowly up and down as he all but devours your with his eyes, you're almost about to beg him to do the same with his body. But you let him be, let him take it all in, despite the fact that he's seen you naked hundreds of times by now so this really shouldn't come as anything new. You let his eyes wander and roam, let his hands flex around your hips every time he sees something he likes, which is often.

You can't help it, truly, when your lips connect with the lace that covers her stomach. You really can't. Your body is moving of its own accord, the need to taste her almost as essential as breathing. Your hands are at her back, spanning her small torso to hold her to you, your grip not quite as much as the one she has when your tongue is tracing her navel through lace and her hands are in your hair. There are patches of darker red along her abdomen in the shapes of your lips and your tongue, evidence of where you've been. When your lips close around her breast and suck lightly, and she's moaning softly and rocking her body against you and holding you tightly, you can feel the heat between you begin to pulse.

Her fingers are at your collar first before they're darting lower and all but ripping your sweater and undershirt up your body and she's murmuring something like _If I'm overdressed then what does that make you?_ before you're helping her shuck it off, careful to toss it in the opposite direction of all the candles because nothing short of a literal fire is going to stop you from ravishing her right here and now.

He's standing and shirtless and panting a little as he gazes down at you with this intensity that you've missed so, so much, but his hands aren't doing nearly as much as you'd like them to be doing, so you take matters into your own so to speak and start blazing trails along his torso, refamiliarizing yourself with the feel of his skin beneath your fingertips as you kiss his chest and hold him close. He tastes like sweat and sleep and Jim, and his chest hair tickles your nose as your tongue darts across his nipple and you kiss every inch of his skin.

She's making you hot and cold and tingly, and her lips are everywhere, and her hands are tickling up your spine in a way that could probably put you right back on your knees except for the fact that you're determined to catch up. You tilt her chin up towards your lips and though her lips taste sweet, there is nothing sweet about the way that you're sucking her bottom lip into your mouth and biting just enough to make her squeal and painting the inside of her mouth with your tongue, tasting all of the flavors that your body has been on respite from.

You can't decide if you missed the way that her tongue feels against yours as it's darting around your mouth in little circles or the feel of her plump lips when you suck on them or the taste of her little sighs as you swallow them, but you just keep going, your body growing more unfulfilled the more that you gain which really makes no sense so you just keep kissing her anyway.

And then suddenly you're falling against him because he's sitting on the couch and pulling you with him, and you plant your knees on either side of him, feeling him so hard and present against you that you have half a mind to rip a hole in the lace and just take him right there. His hair feels like a cloud between your fingers as his tongue skirts along your collarbone, back and forth, his lips mapping their way between your breasts, one hand spanning your back and the other on your ass he he holds you to him and takes your breath away with the ministrations of his mouth.

He's saying, "As pretty as this is, it's getting in my way," and his fingers are hot as they push the top up from your abdomen.

Her breasts are overflowing in your hands as you grasp one in each, and you groan as you squeeze them together before pulling the babydoll off of her completely before diving straight in.

Her nipples are already taut, but you thumb them anyway, hissing when she grinds right into your touch and plants her hands on your shoulders. You kiss the skin between them, fondling her chest as your tongue teases her. It's like your first time all over again, wanting to know every square inch of her, tattooing your fingerprints to her skin as you squeeze pinch and drive her insane. The little noises that she makes when you lightly bite the swell has you dying to taste her, so you duck your head and flick a nipple with your tongue twice before suckling it whole. She groans and wraps her arms around your head in a bear hug and it's the greatest feeling you've ever known because that means that you don't have to move from the taste of her and can really stay there as long as you like.

So you do. Your lips worship her breasts, kissing and sucking her skin, burying your nose between them as your hands pepper trails down the rest of her bare skin. Your name is the only constant in this equation, because your hands and your lips and her hand and the way her body is moving against you changes like the pattern of snowflakes, and you're trying to figure out which one of you is going to give up on trying to keep up first.

But then, he's so hard against your leg that you know he's probably uncomfortable, and your lips have been on the sidelines for far too long and you have to taste him, have to have your hands somewhere other than tangled his his hair, so you're pulling your body away, which takes effort, because his lips are almost suctioned and they make a popping noise and leave a red ring behind when he finally comes up for air.

You have to kiss him, and his lips are pulsing beneath yours, raw and plump, but kissing him is just so good that you forget your mission for a few moments and let yourself just be with him, kissing and tasting him with your tongue. When you bite his bottom lip and he groans and shifts beneath you, you leave one last kiss on his lips before settling yourself on the floor where the pillows you were sitting on await your knees.

His belt is gone quickly, and you're going out of your way to brush along the length of him with every chance you get. His hands are soft but insistent on your shoulders, pleading as you do your best to pull his pants from his body as quickly as you can because you're as eager as he is by now.

Your tongue darts out to lap at the precum that's already spilling from his tip, and he breaks the soft glow of the room with a loud _Ohhh_ as he fists your carefully crafted curls into a ponytail and lets the fingers of his other hand spread wide across his thigh.

Your head tips back and your eyes close and her lips are smooth and hot and surrounding you. Her tongue darts out with no rhyme or reason, and when her fist grasps you and begins to pump up and down and meet her lips, you let out a yelp and buck into her touches.

She's being bold because that's who she's turned into with you and she grabs your hand, the one that's itching at the couch, and places it on her breast. You're tweaking her nipple with one hand and holding her hair away with the other and your hips are moving of their own accord and she just feels so _goddamn amazing_ that when your balls begin to tighten, you have to stop, have to push away the little sighs that she's humming around your cock every time you squeeze her harder, and you pull her back up to the couch before you ruin this night before it's truly begun.

His eyes are struggling to stay open when you're back in his lap, and you can see the way that he's trying to decide just where to put his eyes; they dart from your lips to your cheeks to your stomach and your breasts before his tongue is plunging into your mouth and he's flipping you onto your back.

When he buries his lips behind your ear and begins sucking and licking at your skin, your legs wrap around him immediately, trapping his cock against you. You grip at his hair and his back and probably leave marks where your nails are digging each time he sucks at the crook of your neck. All too quickly his lips are gone though, his tongue skirting down your abdomen and your sighs are getting breathy now because his fingers are gripping your thighs and his teeth are pulling at your panties.

You have to look, because even though you can picture it in your head, it's always so much more gratifying in person, but you smile and moan and squeeze her a little more tightly when you see the dark red patch of wetness in the crook of her panties.

You kiss her over the shiny material, your lips spread wide as your tongue lays flat against her, and she's already got her fingers in your hair and cuss words on her lips and you truly haven't felt more at home in weeks. When you suck at her panties, she slides down the couch to be as close to you as possible and you love it, love that she's trying to bury you inside of her.

Finally, finally he's taking your panties off, and whether you yelp because of the cool air hitting your already soaked skin or because your body has been craving this since November, you can't really tell, and you really don't care, because his tongue is inside of you and all is right in the world and there are constellations behind your eyes.

On any other day you'd call it embarrassing, the amount that you're dripping onto his tongue as he thrusts it in and out of you, wiggling back and forth inside of you as his fingers hold you open. You'd call it embarrassing, probably blush and apologize a lot because you're actually coming already. But the intensity so high, the feel of his lips so amazing, that you don't even care.

She tastes so amazing that even when she's done, you haven't had enough, and when you're on top of her with your lips on hers, sharing the great joy and satisfaction that she brings to you, you don't even hesitate before plunging your fingers inside her.

She's writhing against you, throwing her head back but trying equally to bury her nose in your neck as she whines against your skin and presses her lips into your neck. Her walls are still pulsing from the last orgasm, but you want to make it last, want her to feel as good as she makes you feel every day just by existing, so your thumb finds her clit and you snake down her body to bite one of her nipples between your teeth and you can feel her legs tighten and her walls begin to clench again.

He's moving so fast that you can't even begin to keep up. The only color you see right now is black, because there's no way you can keep your eyes open. His lips are on your clit out of nowhere and he's sucking at first which makes you cry out, but then his tongue is flicking back and forth while his fingers beckon inside of you and your hips are high off the couch duly because you're pushing them to him but also because he's got one arm around you to hold you up.

When she's coming in your mouth for the second time in a matter of minutes, it's hard not to come yourself, but you certainly aren't about to do that into her couch cushions, so you pull her limp body into your lap before she falls out of it completely.

You want nothing more than to kiss him, to feel his lips on yours, because it is a reminder of the time that you finally knew you loved him, his lips on yours and his hands on your back, but you're about to make him do all of the work because he's made you come into oblivion and you're surprised that you're still conscious to speak the truth.

Her fingers are limp on your cheeks, and it's so cute and sexy, and then she whines with her lips pressed to yours, and you can't help but kiss her, your lips soft but hungry, moving slowly at first, tender and loving and tasting every bit of her as her hands grab at your face like she was trying to hold on for eternity, which you really wouldn't mind.

It feels so good to kiss him like this, to be in his lap with your bodies against one another. But he's hard and heavy somewhere beneath your thigh, and you're not sure how much longer either of you can manage, so when he's sucking your tongue into his mouth, you grab the hair on the back of his head with one hand and rise on your knees, grabbing his cock in the other to position him at your opening.

When she sinks down on top of you, you're surprised that you don't come right then, with the feeling of her so slick and so tight and so hot around you. You can't tell if your arms are wrapped more tightly around her, or if her arms are wrapped more tightly around you, but her lips are breathing hotly against your chest, and you know that if you don't move soon, this is going to be entirely anticlimactic.

He's filling you in a way that makes you feel entirely _whole_ _,_ but the desperation in his eyes and in his fingers and in the way that his body is literally trembling urges you forward. You clamp your thighs at his hips and begin to move, cupping his neck as you let the noises in your throat free from the clutches that they've been in all night long.

She's saying your name with every pulse up and down and it's getting pitchy with every move. Her hands are clasped behind your neck, and her tits are pushed up against your chest, and your entire body wants to sing the Hallelujah chorus because everything feels so _good_. But it isn't going to last much longer, so your hands move from her hips and holding her in place to one in back and one in front, and when you're holding her close and thrusting more frantically and rubbing her clit less than gently, her screams are now buried in your neck, and your own eyes roll back into your head as you spill into her, as she shudders around you and holds you so tightly that you think she might break a rib.

You're still together, him softening inside of you, but you refuse to let go, refuse to let the death grip lessen, because now that you're both spent, you really, _really_ just don't want to leave him. You miss him and god _damnit_ if he's going to move from this spot until someone physically forces you apart.

But he's feeling the same way, and you know because his arms haven't stopped holding you either, but you also know because he's _Jim_ and you just have this little intuition that says you shouldn't move for awhile.

Not that you want to anyway.

Her body feels so _right_ beneath your fingers, and at some point you _do_ move, but only to lay down because your body can't be upright anymore. She's laying on top of you, and you're just holding her, feeling the way her skin gets all goose-pimply with every sweep of your fingers, feeling her breath on your chest and her hair all wild on your skin and the way that she's trying to get closer to you despite the fact that she's already wrapped around you and it's probably physically impossible, but she'll be damned if she doesn't try.

Eventually, you make it to the bedroom, but you only know you're moving because he picked you up, cradled like a baby as you dozed in his arms. You would've giggled at the fact that he stopped in the kitchen to grab a handful of cookies, but your energy was expended a little while ago and you're still trying to gain some of it back.

He doesn't stop staring, really, once you're laying in your bed-under the covers this time. His hands continue to wander though, and really they're just tracing up and down your back and cupping your ass and holding you tightly, but sometimes they're tracing your cheek and tipping your chin upwards and you see the love in his eyes and the thanks behind the flecks of gold that are starting to return. When you finally get an ounce of your strength back, you use all of it to bury yourself against his chest.

She falls asleep for a little while, and you think that it would be a good idea too, but it's just so much more fun to stare at her, to watch her lips part and her chest move up and down and the way that she seems to age in reverse when sleep overtakes her.

When her eyes flutter open, you offer her a kiss first and a cookie second and then you're tasting sugar on her tongue and she's pulling you on top of her and your bodies are buzzing again amidst a flurry of lips and hands and sighs.

You don one of the shirts that he keeps at your place, the one that says _Halpert Family Reunion 2001,_ when you decide that you should probably blow out the candles around the house before you call it a night.

On the way back to the bedroom, he picks you up and you land with a thud on top of your counter, and he's working his way between your legs as you rest your hands on his shoulders and his lips find yours.

"I think this might be my favorite prank that you've pulled all year," he says between pecks of his lips and the occasionally slipping in of his tongue.

"Not really a prank," you smile into his kiss. "More so me taking advantage of the situation in a creative way."

"Well, whatever it was, I approve."

She smiles as she wraps her legs around you, pulls you closer, and you realize that you probably aren't going to make it back to the bedroom because she's shoving your boxers down with her toes and doing things to your mouth with her tongue that have you trembling.

In the dark of night that is beginning to turn into morning, you realize that the presents under the tree this year won't compare to the one that's here in your arms.


	18. Chapter 18

"I _can_ not believe that I'm being forced to spend my New Year's here. This is torture."

"Hey now. If you want me to leave, I can _very_ easily put my suitcase back in the trunk and go home."

Jim lifted his face from where it was sunk deep into the pillow of the hotel's queen-sized bed, worry in his wide eyes as he closed both of his hands around one of Pam's.

"Absolutely not. You're the only thing that's going to keep me sane for these next few days."

Pam giggled, using her free hand to brush the hair back from his eyes. Her fingers trailed from his forehead, over the mop on top, and down around to cup his ear. Her thumb brushed back and forth along his cheek.

"I'm not going anywhere, cowboy. Slow your roll."

He brought her trapped hand to his lips, effectively pulling her between his legs that were dangling from the bed to the floor.

"Good. Someone has to get me room service and change the sheets."

She slapped him across the chest, settling in for the afternoon as Jim gathered his things into his messenger bag to head out to the shareholder's meeting that corporate had sent him to in place of Michael. The phrase _We don't need this screwed up_ should have made him feel confident, cocky perhaps. But all it really meant was that he would be ringing in the New Year surrounded by talk of paper.

It was past dinner when he came back, only pausing to slip off his shoes before opening up his laptop to start on the presentation that corporate had asked him to prepare.

Pam was so calm, so patient with him, busying herself in a book, in her sketches, in TV with the volume on low while he worked. He knew that she didn't really want to spend her New Year's cooped up at the Holiday Inn. But in the end, she had insisted that she accompany him, claiming that she _Couldn't imagine ringing in the New Year without him._

He was groaning at his laptop, frustrated with the slow internet connection and the thirty-seven slides of PowerPoint that he had yet to finish, when he was suddenly hit with a soft wave of cloth.

"Come on. You need a break."

Throwing his navy blue swim trunks across the room to hit him square in the chest, Pam disappeared into the bathroom to change.

He grinned, but it faltered quickly, his laptop almost mocking him from the hotel desk.

"Okay, fine. But I only have like, an hour. Tops. I have to get this presentation done before the meeting tomorrow."

"Hey, do what you've gotta do. I'll be in the hot tub."

It was ten more slides before he realized that she'd gone down without him.

"Mmm, this is nice."

Jim's body buzzed as he slipped into the hot tub, taking in the sight of Pam with her eyes closed and her neck resting against the concrete lip.

"Better than slaving over that computer for another hour?"

"Much," he concurred, his eyes still blazing trails over her body that was slightly distorted by the waves in the water. "Is this new?"

Under the power of slow fans, the splashes from the pool, and the haze of chlorine, she still had to peek her ears to catch his breathy words as Jim's dainty fingers wrapped casually around her shoulders and coming to rest underneath the black strap of her bikini top.

"Not really," she quipped casually. "I've had it for a few months. I just never had a reason to wear it."

When she shrugged, the material was more snug around his first two fingers which were still caught between her skin and the elastic.

"Well, _I_ certainly haven't seen it before."

He shrugged back, slipping his fingers from beneath the strap as he turned his body on the concrete bench of the hot tub, sitting up a little straighter in order to sweep his eyes down past the water line.

"Obviously," she scoffed, her eyes still closed. "It's December, Jim. No one in their right mind wears a bikini in the middle of December in Pennsylvania."

When he said nothing back, she opened her eyes, meeting his roaming gaze, the one that made steam rise from the already balmy water.

"No. I guess they don't."

With a sly smile, she darted her eyes to the side to inventory the pool's population before palming his thigh and pressing her lips to his cheek, letting them linger.

Despite the hundred-degree temperature of the water and the cloud of steam surrounding them, her fingers on his skin were still the highest burning sensation he could feel.

She was scratching her fingers up his thigh, light tickles that sent vibrations up his spine and down to his toes.

There was one lingering group in the pool house, three college-aged boys who had clearly broken the "no glass by the pool" rule with their empty beer bottles. But they were collecting their garbage and stumbling towards the door, and no sooner was it sealing softly than her lips were soft beneath his ear and her fingers were gripping him more tightly, higher up his thigh this time.

His breathing hitched in his throat as water moved in slow waves with the pressure of her fingers.

He felt water trickling down his throat at the same moment that her tongue followed its path before her full lips continued kissing and sucking lightly at his skin. He turned on the bench, claiming her lips with his as his large hand sought out her abdomen, his fingers trembling, clenching her more tightly when he remembered that her skin was bare.

His fingers tickled lightly over her stomach, his thumb lingering in her belly button before scratching down to the elastic line of her bikini. She smiled, giggled against his mouth, and snaked her tongue between his lips with a soft sigh.

Jim moved his grasp from belly to back, tracing her spine. She arched into his touch, which in turn had her grasp shifting from his thigh to his crotch where he was already semi-erect. When he groaned, the sound a vibrating whisper against her lips, Pam cupped his cheek, pulling him closer as she squeezed his cock and stood on her knees, straddling his thigh as she continued to work him over his swim trunks.

He grabbed her around the waist, his thumbs spreading over her hip bones while his fingers maneuvered around to her ass, squeezing her as she moved over him.

When she moved her kisses back to his ear, the hand that was stroking him to a full hardness stalled, and her words, _Hit the bubbles_ _,_ made his blood run cold.

He was reaching blindly behind him, not finding the red button that jutted out from the wall until the third try. She had him out of his trunks before the bubbles covered the top layer of water.

Her hand worked him quickly up and down while she moved in a steady pace over his thigh, her lips warm and wet and soft on the skin of his throat while she squeezed him and ran her thumb over all of the sensitive places that made him jerk into her grasp.

The more he kneaded his fingers over her ass, the deeper into his neck she buried her nose, whimpering into his shoulder when he dipped his hands under the material of her bikini bottoms and grabbed her fully.

When she was swinging her knee all the way across his hips, situating his cock fully between her legs, he paused, letting the dizziness subside as his eyes fluttered open and found Pam's gaze ready and wanting.

She was sliding her bottoms to the side and grasping him in her palm again, sliding him against the tight opening as she bit her bottom lip.

"Hey. Hey, hey, hey," he cautioned, palming her hand and moving himself away.

"What?" she whimpered, doing her best to push her opening closer to him.

"We are in a hot tub," he stated simply, slowly, his words deliberate as he laced his fingers through hers, resting all four of their hands on his chest between them.

"The sky is blue. What's it to you?"

And with that, she was nipping at his bottom lip, grinding insistently against his base, making waves in the water around him.

He chuckled, swallowed a groan, leaning into the kiss if only to control it, as he slowed her with his lips, with his hands on her hips, reaching between them to pull her bottoms back into place.

"Why don't we go back up to the room, I'll finish up my presentation, and then I'm all yours?"

With her forehead resting on his chin, he angled to place a long, lingering kiss to her wet skin, and chuckled when she leaned her head back to pout, her eyes doeish and intense all in the same moment.

"Ugh. You're no fun."

She stood then, and it took everything in him not to pull her back to his lap as he watched the water drip down her body, catching and sliding down every angle and curve. He wanted to run his tongue across her skin and catch the falling droplets, but they were in a hotel pool, and there were probably security cameras somewhere, and they had a _room upstairs_ for crying out loud.

He took a moment to himself to gawk before standing, willing his erection to subside. She tossed him a towel and he shook his head, smiling as she winked over his shoulder and wrapped a stiff hotel towel around her chest before lacing their fingers together and heading up the elevator.

With the clock steadily creeping towards midnight and the threat of a an eight-AM presentation looming, he really did need to finish up the PowerPoint. Pam was hopping in the shower anyway, and as much fun as it would've been to join her, he traded his wet suit for a white undershirt and a pair of basketball shorts before hunkering down at the desk in the hotel room and plugging away.

Twenty-five minutes later, after the shower had turned off, he heard the squeak of the door before the room filled with a rush of heat and steam and the overwhelming scent of the shampoo he'd grown so fond of. He turned his head, smiling that warm, lopsided grin as Pam stepped from the steam still towel drying her hair. She was wearing nothing but a pair of simple black cotton panties and a sports bra, something he'd come to expect under her pajamas before he eventually stripped them off of her.

"How was your shower?"

"Nice," she offered, kissing his temple before moving to sit on the edge of the bed. "Would've been nicer if I'd had some company."

Her sing-song tone trailed off, and he could hear the _click_ of her lotion cap before he smelled its scent. His dick began to stir again with the images of her not four feet behind him lathering up her body.

He coughed, shook out his brain, and continued typing away.

"How's the PowerPoint coming along?"

"It's getting there. With any luck, I'll be done before midnight."

"Aww, baby, don't tell me we're going to ring in the New Year with a bunch of sales numbers."

He turned in the chair, his heart genuinely hurting when he saw the slight look of disappointment in her eyes.

"I'm going to try my absolute best to _not_ make that happen."

Before he could turn back to his work, she was stepping off the bed again, still only in her underwear, but now freshly lotioned and shaved and _so fucking perfect_ that he bit back a groan as she sat in his lap, wrapping her arms around his neck as she pushed their noses together.

"Hey. Take a little break. Spend a little time with me. You can whip these things out in an hour. Come on, I'll make it worth your while."

She was kissing his cheek and his ear and his throat, and it made his body physically scream when he was shaking his head against her skin and offering her apologetic eyes.

"Let me finish up the sales part of this, and then I'm all yours, okay? I can get up early to finish it just...twenty minutes, okay?"

She pulled her lips from his skin reluctantly and scratched the skin of his cheek lightly before saying a soft _Okay_ and heading back to the bed.

It was a solid five minutes of work before he heard a string of noises behind him that had his whole body on edge.

The rustle of sheets.

The light scratching of skin.

A soft sigh.

A gasp that she was trying to cover up.

Or was she?

 _Don't do it, man. Don't turn around. Fifteen more minutes. Three more slides._

But his body was betraying him, forcing him to see the one things that he didn't really need at this moment in time, because there was no way, _absolutely no way_ he was going to come back from this.

She was lying in the middle the bed with her head thrown back against the pillows.

Her bra had been thrown somewhere beyond where his eyes cared to wander.

One of her hands was palming her breast.

And the rest of her fingers were buried somewhere inside of her panties.

With her eyes closed, she couldn't tell that he was watching, so he stole a moment, the same moment that it took for him to become fully erect, to watch her hand move _oh so slowly_ against herself. He was gripping himself instantly before the words _Are you trying to kill me?_ were low and raspy and unfamiliar on his tongue.

"Oh, quite the contrary, Mr. Halpert. I'm trying to get you to play hooky from your work and join me."

She said it all without opening her eyes, without so much as slowing her fingers.

He gulped.

"You said twenty minutes, so I just figured I'd get myself started. No use waiting in vain, right?"

This time, her eyes were open, and she was staring right into his soul, her smile turning into a torturous smirk as she slowly and deliberately found the hand that was working his cock.

"You'd better finish those slides, Jim. I don't want to be the cause for an unfinished presentation."

Suddenly, he was whipping the chair around and typing blindly, his fingers fumbling at keys, the backspace button becoming his best friend as clicking keys and a chorus of her soft moans became the new ambience in Holiday Inn room 301.

"Hurry, Jim."

 _Type, you asshole, type!_

"God, this would feel so much better if your fingers were inside me."

 _Two more slides. Two. More. Slides._

"I'm so fucking wet, Jim. God, you make me so wet."

His groan was audible this time, and his next choice was either going to help or kill him.

He balanced his laptop on his lap, uncomfortably so, because of his hard-on, and swiveled in the chair so that he was facing her.

"Pam."

His voice was low, dark, possessive. Her eyes popped open, her fingers stilled, but she remained beneath her panties as their eyes met.

"God, I can see how hard you are through your pants. It's making me so wet, baby."

She blinked her eyes closed, her hand moving more quickly a she bit her lip, tugged harder on her nipple.

"I want you inside of me so bad, Jim."

He'd hardly moved in the past half hour, yet he appeared disheveled; his breath was ragged and his pulse was racing.

"You have to stop."

"Stop what?"

Now she was just fucking with him.

"You know what you're doing."

As her eyes turned to slits and her fingers picked up a torturously slow pace, she whispered, "Tell me," and his lungs nearly collapsed.

"Stop...touching yourself. Seriously. I'm...god, I'm almost done. Seriously. Five more minutes."

"I'd love to stop touching myself, but you're a little indisposed at the moment, and I'm just so fucking close already, Jim."

And then her head was dropping backwards again, and she was bringing her knees up on either side of her to widen her legs, to give herself more access.

To give him a better view.

Though damp, black material still covered her fingers, he could tell by the tone of her moaning, by the new angle of her hand, that she was plunging her fingers inside of herself now, and that, coupled with the _Oh, fuck, Jim!_ broke him.

He didn't hear the clatter of his laptop to the ground as he stood and shoved his shorts and boxers down in one fell swoop, all but shoving himself between her legs, stealing her fingers from inside of her panties before sucking them forcibly between his lips, pinning the other hand above her head.

"That's my job," he whispered, his voice husky, as he continued to taste her on her own fingers, loving the sound of his name on her lips as he hovered above her on his knees.

When he was done licking her fingers, her right hand joined her left in the grasp of one of his hands while he grabbed himself in the other, tracing the head of his cock up and down the slit of her drenched panties.

"Do you see what you do to me, Beesly? I can't even get through one lousy PowerPoint without you getting me all worked up like this."

And then he was shoving her panties aside and plunging deep within her.

She had been right about one thing: _she was wet_.

Her slick heat covered him as he held himself inside her, gripping her thighs to pull her as close to him as he could before he pulled all the way out and pushed himself once again to the hilt.

Her hands rested on top of his shoulders, her cries startled and sharp.

"Oh _fuck_ , Jim," was all she managed before he was grabbing her feet and bending her legs and pumping himself inside of her hard and fast.

He bent his head to suck at her throat, biting her skin less than gently as he tasted her soap and felt the vibrations of her cries against his lips.

The way she wrapped her hands behind her neck and clasped them there before letting her body go limp against the bed was like a sexy surrender, letting him have his way as he continued to move in and out of her hot and quick.

When he could feel her the pulsing pull of her walls around him, he pushed their bodies together, stilling himself inside of her as he grinded their pelvises together, not slowing his pace in the slightest.

She groaned when he pulled her bottom lip between his teeth, sucking and nipping while he continued to grind at her clit. Her knees were pushed up to her ears and when she began to whine sporadically around him, he started moving again, hitting deeper than he ever had within her.

"Is this what you wanted, babe?" he growled, his prime instincts taking over as her whines climbed the walls. He kissed her ear and licked at the skin below, loving the way that she was clawing at his back.

"Yes, god, Jim," she cried, thrusting her body upwards in a sore attempt for more friction. He did his best to readily return what she sought, slipping a hand between them to cup her ass and push them closer together.

It was when she was whining, "Fuck, Jim, _I'm coming_ _,"_ that swallowed her noises, rolling his tongue past her lips and stroking her as she came around him.

But no sooner was she coming off her high than he was flipping them over, letting her sit astride his lap as she balanced her body above him. He was pumping up into her with his hips, holding onto her hips while his lips sought out her tits, suckling one nipple between them before flicking his tongue against her, loving the way she grasped onto him and let incoherent noises fly into the open air.

"God, Pam, you fuckin' drive me crazy," he moaned into the valley of her chest, kissing every inch of her as he continued to drive upwards. "Fuck, you feel so good."

The slapping sounds of their bodies moving together almost drowned out the squeaks that came from her lungs, the strangled _Ahh_ _'_ _s_ that he murmured into her skin.

He was touching, grabbing, squeezing every inch of her, from her hips to hold her in place to her ass to grind their bodies together. He pushed her breasts together to lap at each of them in quick succession, then slapped a palm to her back to force their lips together in a heated flurry of kisses, nips, tongues tangling.

The tightness in his balls started to pull him downward, and she was on her back again with her legs wrapped forcibly around his waist as he palmed her face with one hand and brought the other between them.

They were kissing furiously, whines hitting the air each time their lips disconnected. She was gripping onto his forearms, nails biting into the skin there.

"Shit, Jim, harder baby," she breathed against his cheeks, "I think I...again," and he was moaning _Fuck_ long and low as quickened his already rapid pace, feeling his cock start to pulse and twitch inside of her.

"I'm gonna come, I'm gonna- _Oh fuck_ ," he yelled, burying his lips into her neck as he groaned, his hips snapping against her skin as he shot his release deep inside, feeling her follow him quickly behind.

As their breathing slowed, he found her slack body still able to reach for him, to kiss him long and slow, her tongue being sneaky and languid against his as he rolled them so that he wasn't crushing her, already wary of how bruised and sore their bodies were about to be in the coming hours.

When their kisses became farther apart, slower, he nuzzled her nose with his, kissed her cheek and her temple, and opened his eyes to see just how flush her face was, how satiated she looked.

The glow of the clock behind her curls that blinked _12:01._

"Happy New Year, Beesly," he whispered, his smile spreading across her lips.

"Happy New Year, my love."


	19. Chapter 19

Hey! So, I don't typically post notes before chapters, but some of the comments/PMs I'm getting are about future chapters, so I just figured I'd address that here (which, by the way, thanks for all the notes!)

Trust me when I say that I have at least 12 more "chapter ideas" for this story. Lots of different scenarios, lots of different moments from the show. The one that I get the most suggestions for is Pam being away at Pratt, and I have to say, that chapter is both upcoming and also my absolute favorite. I just have some to fill in before we get there :)

Also! To those of you who read and are hardcore JAM fans, I have this cross-posted over at MTT, which is a FanFic site dedicated solely to Jim and Pam fic! If you've never checked it out, come hang with us! I get half of the ideas for this in the chats that we do. We're a fun group of people, promise :)

Now, on with the smut!

 **The One With the Snow Day: Pt. 1**

"Bancroft! Hey, don't your neighbor's kids go to Bancroft?"

I thought for a second, as I turned the burner off and dumped the pot of warm pasta into the strainer over my kitchen sink, of Julie and John's sons, the blue Bancroft bulldog that was frequently emblazoned on t-shirts and hoodies when they ambled down the walkway and shouted, "Hi Jim!" on their way to the bus stop in the mornings.

"Yeah, I think so. Why?"

I crossed the threshold of tile to carpet that turned the open concept layout of my condo from kitchen to living room, my eyebrows furrowed as I crossed my arms along the back of the sofa to rest my chin atop them. She was sitting cross-legged on the middle cushion with her hair in a messy bun on top of that cute little head of hers, her glasses fogging and clearing every few moments from the steam of the hot chocolate mug that was cradled in her hands.

I learned something new about Pam Beesly everyday.

Today's lesson: Snowy Sunday traditions do not change even though you've grown up.

So, under the gathering blanket of Pennsylvania cold and blizzard, she insisted on the way home from my parent's place after Sunday brunch that we gather up enough supplies to last us until June and hunker down with a fire and hot beverages and about a thousand blankets that I didn't even know I owned until she'd shucked them all out of my closet and onto the floor of the living room.

Suddenly, her head was rolling back, the puff-ball of hair lightly scratching my forearm as she groaned and curled her lips into a little pout that I silently laughed at.

"They're closed tomorrow, too. Seriously, baby, if the kids aren't expected to make it out of the neighborhood in the morning to _learn important things_ _,_ I don't understand why we should have to go _eight miles across town_ to sell some fucking _paper_ _._ "

This time, my laugh was audible.

"Wow, I didn't know you were such an advocate for snow days," I jeered, jabbing an elbow into her shoulder before I went to check on the sauce.

"I'm vocal about it when I have to _drive_ in it."

I could tell without turning around that she had probably just huffed, which meant that her shoulders were moving quite exaggeratedly up and down in my old Eagles crewneck that she was wearing, the one that was at least three sizes too big for her and was probably longer than some of the dresses she'd worn out on dates.

Dates with me.

Because she was my girlfriend.

 _God,_ I'm never going to get over that.

Anyway.

I tossed, "Oh, please. Don't even. You know I don't let you lay a hand on a steering wheel if it so much as rains too hard, Beesly," as I plated our meals and grabbed the half-empty bottle of wine from the fridge.

Another thing I'd caught onto pretty quickly was that when Pam Beesly was hungry, little things seemed to mount into pretty momentous events. So, while I didn't doubt at _all_ that she was getting a little nostalgic as she watched the names of local schools roll across the bottom of my television screen, I was still pretty keen on the fact that "brunch" in the Halpert house could mean several things, and today, after my mother's less than filling experimental spread, I was surprised that my neighbors Julie and John weren't phoning to ask if there was a monster in my condo.

That monster named "Pam Beesly's Stomach," which could probably be heard from miles away.

Though I typically did my best to make sure we ate our meals at the kitchen table and not in front of a television, I made the exception, and maneuvered her plate and glass of wine to her lap, bypassing the coffee table entirely.

By the time I returned with my own dinner, her garlic bread was gone, and the spaghetti was halfway to joining it.

"Jeez, Bruce Bogtrotter, are you hungry or what?" I chuckled, intentionally poking the beast as I set to work on my own dinner.

"Hey. Watch it. You know I love your mother, but could someone please let her know that _brunch_ and _hour devours for a rich person's cocktail party_ are not synonymous? God, I'm pretty sure all I ate today was a plate of pickles."

"You're probably right. You _reek_ of vinegar."

She shoved me, stole my second piece of garlic bread, and I chuckled as I thought back on my own meal that was largely made up of crackers and Swiss cheese. I pondered this for a bit before devouring my own plate and getting up not five minutes later to get us each seconds.

Both full of pasta, wine, and hazed over by the six inches of snow that we watched tumble to the ground out my front window, the child in me began to manifest, just as seven-year-old-Pam had been doing not too long before. All around this neighborhood, kids were probably getting ready to stay up late with the anticipation of an extra weekend day upon them.

And here we were, watching the nine o'clock news as we dozed on the couch in our skivvies, tucked under blankets, ready to go to bed soon so that we could be awake early enough to, what had she said earlier, _sell some fucking paper._

I sighed, hugging Pam more tightly to me from where she lay with her back across my chest, her face cradled by my neck.

"Hey," I said, my voice surprising me with its lack of use and low texture. "Let's do it."

"Uhh, come again?" she replied, albeit after awhile, as if she was pondering my words. "Seriously, Jim? Is the romance already gone? _Hey, let's do it_ _?_ "

I palmed my forehead at the grovelly, caveman voice she used to mock me, sitting us both up as she continued.

"You're going to have to try a little harder than that, babe. I may be pretty easy, but I'm not that easy."

I brushed her comment aside, vowing to save it for later.

"No, you dork. I meant, let's do it. Let's take a snow day tomorrow."

Her mood of playful annoyance switched on a dime as she turned in my lap, her eyes lit up with childlike wonder.

"C'mon. They plow the roads once an hour and they're _still_ shitty at best. And good ol' Scott Stuccio said it's not going to stop falling until late afternoon tomorrow. I don't plan on leaving the house unless someone forcibly drags me out."

I nodded once, pulling my lips into a hard line to seal a case that really didn't need to be pleaded in the first place, because she was grinning like a madwoman and bouncing up and down in my lap and squealing into my ear as she clapped.

And then she was kissing me, without a vocal response, because really, this was all I needed.

Her hands around my neck, her lips pulling my bottom one between to suck hard, her tongue between my teeth as her body pushed me back into the couch.

I can't exactly say that my drive of _wanting Pam Beesly_ ever shuts itself off, but like a tidal wave, it was suddenly crashing over me, a lit match sparking beneath my fingers as I groaned into her mouth and pulled her to me in a rib crushing hug, one that still didn't have our bodies close enough.

Her hands pushed back into my hair at the same moment that mine shoved beneath the material of my own sweatshirt that pooled around her sweaty skin. I tried to fight with the laws of physics as my fingers scrambled for purchase over skin that was to slick for me to cling to, so in my own frustration, I just yanked the old sweatshirt over her head by the collar and dragged her back on top of my chest.

The flames in the fireplace behind our heads reflected in her eyes as she stared down at me, her hands balanced on my shoulders, her body warm and covered now in nothing but a pair of underwear that I could already feel were soaking quickly. She grinded over me once, her eyes fluttering shut as her head nodded back and her fingers gripped at my shoulders, before I couldn't stand it.

I pulled her body back against me as I sat up with her in my lap, my hands spanning her back as her chest pressed into mine, her throat salty with sweat under my lips. I sucked at her skin, nipping and licking as my hands ran up and down her spine.

She moaned _Ohh_ long and low into my ear, shifting her body quickly over my hardening cock as my lips closed over her nipple. Her arms had my head in a bear hug, her fingers tugging at my long locks. When I bit down on the hardened nub, she squeaked, squeezing her thighs at my sides.

I could feel her dripping through her panties, the wetness seeping through to my own boxers, and I groaned at the feeling, loving how she could go from zero to sixty so quickly.

So I told her.

"You're so wet," I moaned into the valley between her breasts, sucking the skin there before licking a trail to her other nipple and biting softly.

" _Shit,_ " she rasped, reaching behind her to palm my thigh and squeeze hard, her pelvis grinding more forcefully, more fitfully now.

"God, I need to taste you." It was a growl that I couldn't help, my instincts taking over, my tongue longing to be on her more than my lungs cared to breathe. It was a hunger that I craved, one that had to be filled. So, before she could pipe another word from her lips, I was sliding underneath her, leaving her body in a still seated position as I kissed her stomach, down to her panties.

My lips were hot against the cotton, my tongue skirting across every bit of cotton until it was met with the pool of moisture. Even through fabric, the taste had me moaning against her.

I was barking _Off_ as my own fingers tugged at the sides, clawing her hips on the way down. It was undoubtedly the worst position for me to be trying to get her naked-she was kneeling over my torso with one knee essentially wedged between the sofa cushions and the back of the couch. But I couldn't stand it. I needed to be on her, in her, surrounding her, with a fury that I blamed partially on the way she looked in my clothes, and partially on the knowledge that we had more than twenty-four hours to do nothing but devour one another.

As she did her best to rid herself of her panties leg by leg, I grabbed her by the waist and brought her to my lips, my tongue running the length of her slit through cotton as I sucked and kissed anywhere I could. Of course, this made the whole panty removing process a bit more difficult, but I wasn't really in control of what my body wanted, to be fair.

She doubled over my head when my tongue touched her clit through the cotton, her fingers pulling at my hair as she shuddered, _Fuck, Jim, let me get them off already_ _,_ and in the only moment of clarity, I let my guard down and chuckled, watching her stand on shaky legs to peel the only piece of clothing remaining away from her body.

I watched her do it with hunger in my eyes, my fingers on her stomach, her chest, her arms. Her body was glowing in the firelight, making her look ablaze.

The stirring of my cock against cotton reminded me of my own still dressed state, and with one hand still tattooing her sweaty skin, I lifted my hips off the couch and pulled my boxers off, shucking them god only knows where.

She turned to me, fully bare, her pussy glistening, her own fingers reaching out for me as I grabbed her waist and pulled her forcibly to me, my stare clouded over with a lust that saw her and only her, a mountain of curls piled high atop her head, those lips plump and pink just begging to spend hours on mine.

God, was she fucking gorgeous.

"Now, where were we?" I asked, my voice husky as I ran my palms up and down her sides, grasping her hips reaching down to palm and knead her ass as she rested her hands on my shoulders.

She bit her lip, and in that moment, a cloud of lust overcame me.

I flopped backwards on the couch so that I was laying flat, pulling her with me by the thighs so that she was kneeling above me once again. When her thighs were clamped around my head, I dove straight in.

She was moaning these high-pitched sounds that only drove my tongue more deeply inside of her as I held onto her hips and enjoyed the feel of her grinding over my lips. She tasted of musk and honey and heaven, and I simply couldn't get enough of her.

I sucked her lips between mine, groaning against her at the sensations, of her body dripping onto my tongue like it was giving up a Sunday church offering, of her body shuddering above me as her hands gripped the armrest behind my head. She was rocking back and forth, riding against my lips, setting a rhythm as I licked a trail from her opening to her clit and back again, not quite giving her what she wanted, but enjoying the ride all the same.

She sat straight up all of a sudden, keeping one hand balanced on the back of the couch, but using the other to pinch and pull at her nipples, and when I groaned against her, I swear I heard a giggle in her own sounds.

When I finally closed my lips around her clit, holding her firmly to me by the hips, she was shouting, _Fucking Christ, Jim, oh shit!_ and falling back over the top of my head.

"Two can play at that game, Bees," I muttered against her, reaching up to close my hand over the one of hers that was still pulling at her breasts.

But as she sat back up and reached behind her, I almost choked.

Her eyes were wide, black circles, her lips curled into the grin of a sex-fiendish Cheshire cat.

"You bet your balls they can."

And when she spit into her palm and brought it behind her to close around me, I thought I might actually die in that moment.

I rested my forehead against her stomach, her thighs taking a break as she sat on top of my chest and jerked me off behind her back.

"Oh my _God_ ," I breathed, this inhuman sound, my eyes spinning in the back of my head as she thumbed the underside and squeezed her way up and down my shaft. I was thrusting into her hand, feeling the precum already sliding out of my tip when I was suddenly hungry for her again.

But when I picked her up and felt her thighs go weak as I started to tongue fuck her again, I had a better idea.

I pulled her fingers off of my dick, sitting up underneath her at a forty-five degree angle.

"Up."

Her brows furrowed as she reached back for me and I pushed her hand away again, bringing her up onto her knees.

"Turn around."

When she cocked her brow in my direction, the haze in her eyes doing its best to hold on, I scooted my body into a fully seated position and palmed her face, stroking her cheekbones with my thumb before pulling her lips gently to mine.

"Do you trust me?" I whispered against her lips, the feel of her palm flat against my chest sending a new sort of warmth throughout my bones. When she nodded, I pressed one more peck to her lips before repeating myself. "Okay. Turn around."

I guided her, helping her move so that she was on her knees again, but facing backwards. With my hands still gripping her hips, I placed a sloppy kiss to each of her cheeks before laying down flat on the couch again and pulling her towards my mouth. When my tongue was entering her from behind and she bent forward, I gently pushed on her lower back, waiting for her to catch up.

With her palms spread across my shins for balance, her breath was hot on my dick, and I whimpered into her lips, gripping her harder, holding her to me more tightly as I thrust my hips upward. I felt her lips grin against my tip first, before the rest of her started to take control.

When her tongue met the tip, my own was halfway inside her, and I had to hold onto her hips to keep myself from drowning as I let out a long, low moan. The vibrations must have been a welcome sensation to her, because no sooner was I humming against her than she was humming around me, her lips slipping, conversely taking me in deeper.

We both paused, breathing hotly against one another, before she began to pick up her pace.

I was surrounded by her on all sides, her taste on my lips, her tits brushing low on my abdomen, her fist around the base while her lips did unspeakable things up and down my cock. I was groaning, kissing her intermittently as she worked me mad. I gave my lips a quick break, needing to use them to cry out instead, a different way to worship her.

"Jesus, _fuck_ , Pam," I bit, thrusting upward into her touch, into her mouth.

When I moved one hand to take over for me, dipping my fingers inside of her from this new angle, I felt her grip run hard on me as she moaned around my cock.

It was my name on her lips on my cock, and I knew I was done for.

I lapped at her, thrusting quickly to meet her strokes, chasing after the feeling of her moaning and groaning against me. Racing against her, I shifted my weight to hold her in one palm and stroke her clit with her other while I flattened my tongue inside her.

It was then that she actually whimpered, releasing her lips from my dick to rest her head on my thigh and give into my mouth, to thrust herself backwards and rub against the sensations, her hand limply twisting around me in a way that made me begin to see white.

"Jim," she whined, "Oh, god, baby, I... _ohh fuck_ _._ "

It was my own personal hallelujah chorus.

But I selfishly wanted more.

When I shoved her forward, she groaned in protest. I dragged her to me, our bodies on their sides as I pushed our noses together, my tongue hot on her lips where without hesitation, she opened beneath me. My living room was a chorus of moans and the wet sounds of our kissing, our tongues twirling around one another, tasting ourselves on each other as hands wove through hair and against skin.

"Baby...why…" she panted against my lips, her fingers skirting quickly down my chest to wrap around me again.

I groaned, pumping into her fist, my forehead pressed against hers as I stared between us at my cock appearing and disappearing in her grasp.

When I stopped thrusting, I held onto her cheek, bumping our noses as I mouthed against her lips, "I don't want to come unless I'm inside you."

She bit her own lip before throwing both arms around my neck and biting mine.

No sooner were we making out sloppily like teenagers than I was turning her around in my arms, her ass rubbing against my rock hard cock.

It was something about having her ass pressed so closely to my face that way, my tongue inside her from behind, that had me wanting to have her like this, spooned against me. I pressed my lips to her neck, her shoulder, spread one hand wide across her belly as I fisted myself with the other and brought myself to her entrance.

"Are you okay like this?" I whispered against her ear, kissing the skin behind it as she reached up and behind her own body to thread her fingers through the back of my head.

Her _Yeah_ was more of a whine than an actual syllable, but it was all I needed to push into her. I buried my face into her neck as the feeling of her hot and tight from this new angle had me breathless.

I held her to me for a moment, savoring the feeling of her pulsing around me, before she began to grind her ass against me, begging for me to move.

I pushed into her, and she whined, clutching my hair as I pulled out slowly.

"Faster," she breathed, covering the hand on her stomach with her own, shifting backwards into me.

I was pumping quickly now, biting her ear as she clenched around me.

"God, you feel so good," I muttered into her ear, letting my hand leave her stomach in favor of her breasts, pinching her nipple as I felt myself getting closer.

" _Shit_ , Jim, I'm so close," she whined. Before I could do anything about it, her own fingers were darting down her body, ticking furiously at her clit.

It was that movement, staring down her body over her shoulder, that had me coming apart at the seams.

I shot into her with a yelp, with her name on my lips, along with a long, low moan that was decidedly unmanly in a lot of ways. Both hands were holding onto her, holding her against me as I rode my release, continuing to pump into her she pulsed out her own orgasm.

She was riding against her fingers, and rather than help her, I let her have this, choosing to watch instead as her torso bowed and bent against me, under my palms. When we both began to slow, our chests pumping rapidly against one another, I swear I could feel the air let out of the room as we sank ten feet deeper into my couch.

I held her to me as tightly as I could, burying my face into the back of her neck as I breathed her in, let my lungs catch up with the rest of my body that was still buzzing.

Using the little strength I had left in my bones, I turned her around and dragged her to rest on top of me, keeping my arms wrapped tightly around her as our breathing slowed to a jog. I wasn't watching the clock, but it was some time before either of us stirred, a long time of my breath creating condensation on her skin, her puffs of air cooling the sweat that was dripping down my body, sweat most certainly not conjured by the fireplace.

When she picked her head up, curls were tumbling out of her ponytail and gathering around her face, sweeping against my cheek like kisses. I brushed them behind her ear, curling my fingers against her skin before lifting my lips to kiss her slowly.

It wasn't long before she was flopping against me rather than holding her weight above me, but our kissing was languid, slow, all lips for quite some time. When her tongue darted against my mouth, my hips twitched, but the rest of my body screamed from the muscles I had just overworked. She giggled at the noise I made that was more pain than anything else.

Standing, she pulled my discarded t-shirt over her head and yanked me off the couch by the hand.

Once I was spooned behind her, tucking her body into mine from head to toe, she kissed my hands before whispering, "You'd better rest up, Halpert. We've got a snow day tomorrow. I don't want to waste it."

* * *

EN: This one made me want to go to confession. Oy.


	20. Chapter 20

**The One With the Snow Day Part 2**

My favorite part of snow days when I was younger was definitely the sleep.

I am one-hundred percent the guy who sleeps in any chance he gets. Although being an adult in an adult body has severely put a damper on that (I mean, my new "sleeping in" has become, like, 8:30, which is bogus. Stupid biology), I still relish any opportunity to not set an alarm.

So as Pam and I passed out wrapped around each other, I had a half-conscious revelation that I could slide that sucker to _OFF_ , and reached across to the nightstand to do just that.

But what I hadn't anticipated was a morning wake up call with _out_ all of the noise.

I wouldn't realize until after the fact that it was only 7:14 in the morning of my only true snow day since the seventh grade, but God almighty, I could _not_ care less.

Her lips pulled me from my slumber, warm and wet. Her tongue flicked softly around the tip of my cock that was hardening in her mouth. With her hands planted symmetrically on my thighs, her thumbs dragging softly along the insides, all it took was the slow suction of her lips as she set a pace to have the truly alarming noises coming from _me_.

I groaned, my hands still heavy with slumber somehow finding hers and squeezing tightly as she continued to suck me hard.

"Mmm, good morning," she managed, pulling her lips from me only long enough for a greeting before her hand wrapped around me at the base and she pursed her lips, rubbing my head around them several times before she was back at it, her hands and mouth finding a steady rhythm as I, still half asleep, succumbed to the sensations that were dizzily building throughout my body.

My eyes, still heavy, remained lidded as my hands twitched awake. Needing to be on her more, I sought her shoulders, her hair, her neck, rubbing slow circles as she bobbed up and down in my lap. I could feel the soft smoothness of her skin beneath my fingertips, stretching down to her back, tickling bare skin that hadn't been covered in our state of exhaustion last night.

As my body continued to awaken, prickling from head to toe, but mostly focused on where her lips were, I began to move, to stretch my feet beneath her, hook my foot behind her calf and run my toes along her thigh, to run my hands along the bare skin of her arms before winding into her hair and tightening her locks into a messy ponytail.

I guided her then, my hips limply meeting her thrust for thrust as her tongue trailed along the underside, licking a path from bottom to top while her fist continued pumping. She kissed the shaft, starting at the tip and making her way down before her lips were around my balls and I was grunting and losing my grip.

I pulled her to me then, my eyes still closed, lips pursed in a whine as I grasped the back of her head and held her to me, my tongue immediately lapping at hers while she situated herself on top of me.

With one palm splayed across her back, the other holding her head to mine as our foreheads clung and our breath filled the space between, she guided me inside, buried her face in my neck, and held on for the ride.

It wasn't long before I was coming, hard and fast, my hips snapping up towards her as I felt her fingers snake between us to get her there seconds later. It wasn't until her body weight collapsed against me, our noses running against each other, that I finally peeled my eyes open for the first time.

Seeing her, eyes closed contentedly, a satiated smile tugging her lips wide, will never get old.

I pushed a stray curl back behind her ears, dragged my thumb across her cheek, down her jaw, over her lip, before kissing her softly, mumbling _Good morning to you, too_ against her lips as her eyes peeled open.

"Now that you're awake," she grinned, kissing my cheek as she began to peel away from me, "are you ready?"

I didn't quite know what I was supposed to be "ready" for. Ready to pull her back into bed and throw the covers over our heads for another few hours? Absolutely. Ready to spend our day off doing nothing but connecting lips with skin? You bet. Ready to jump in a cold shower, because now she was sauntering across my bedroom with her hair running down her bare back, the curve of her ass absolutely perfect in the dim glow of the morning, just beckoning to have my hands on it?

Well. Okay. I did do that.

I _did_ very well push myself out of bed and palm her ass, squeezing firmly as my lips dropped to her neck and sucked just below her ears before I whispered, "Depends on what you mean by _ready_ ," before letting one hand sneak to her front, finding her still wet and swollen from just minutes ago.

She sighed, leaning back into me, but only for a moment before she was opening the dresser and pulling out a fresh pair of panties to throw on.

"Hey now, I just gave you your morning fill," she chuckled with a raised eyebrow thrown in my direction. "I meant, ready to play in the snow!"

She turned then, her breasts the biggest taunt as she planted one hand on her hip and shifted her weight to the side and they swayed along with her movements. Despite the fact that she was standing in front of me naked, but also had an adorable glint in her eye to go with her smile, made the fact that I was now cocking my eyebrow and frowning in protest a bit uncalled for.

"Babe. You can't be serious."

"I am abso _lutely_ serious. Now, come on. Get dressed. I left my snow pants at my place, so I'll have to find something of yours to throw on."

It was no use arguing. I tried plenty of times as she was getting dressed (definitely tried to steal her clothes. Definitely tried to undress her several times. Definitely got slapped), as she was brushing her teeth (kissed up and down her neck while standing behind her. Tried several times to cop a feel. Ended up with toothpaste in my hair), while she made us breakfast (plopped her down on the counter, snuck my hands under her shirt. She ate the last pancake in protest. Rude). But this girl was _adamant_ about going outside.

I do have to admit that she looked friggen adorable in a pair of my old Adidas swish pants. She had to roll the waistband a few times to make them not as massive, but pair that with her winter coat and hat and mittens and boots and all of a sudden going out into the snow wasn't really the worst idea in the world.

We ended up helping my neighbor boys build a snowman, had a snowball fight with the entire city block, and just trudged around in the two-and-a-half feet of white powdery stuff.

It was banking on noon when most of the kids started going inside for lunch. As we made our way back to my place, she suddenly threw herself to the ground on the side between my condo and my neighbor's place.

"Beesly. _What_ in God's name are you doing?" I chuckled, crossing my arms and sending white dust everywhere as I watched her spread all four limbs in opposite directions.

She giggled back _Snow angels!_ as I was putting two and two together.

By now, her curls had spread beneath her cute little beanie hat and were wild against the damp snow. As she moved her arms and legs, pushing snow everywhere, I couldn't help but realize that she truly did look like an angel in the pale light of day. I let myself stare for just a minute before she was rolling to the side, being extra careful, to check out her masterpiece.

She stood with gloved hands on her hips, her head cocked to the side, as she kicked little uneven divots to make her snow angel more symmetrical.

I wrapped my arms around her from behind as she asked, "What do you think?" kissing her cheek before resting my chin on her shoulder.

"I think it's pretty great," I started, hugging her around the waist, "but I think we can do better."

She had enough time to cock her head the other way in confusion before I had her flat on her back, kissing her passionately as I shoved my knee in between her legs.

We were at it for a few minutes, furious panting and rubbing of bodies through layers of coats before she pulled back.

"Jim."

 _Kiss_.

"We're…"

 _Lips on her throat, sucking gently enough to make her squeal._

"Outside!"

 _My hand sneaking its way beneath the rolled band of my pants, rubbing insistently over her panties._

"It's okay. All the kids went inside for lunch and video games."

I smirked then, reaching down to pull off my glove before shoving beneath the waistband altogether.

"OH my _god_ your hands are freezing!" she yelped, her hips going sporadic as they bucked into my touch, but simultaneously tried to get away from the cold. I couldn't help it. I laughed.

"Well, I have to warm them up somehow!" I chuckled, running my likely ice cold fingers along her inner thighs. I couldn't tell whether the sounds she was making were in pleasure or in protest to the cold, but she wasn't stopping me, so I kept going.

Despite the temperature, she was warm and slick against my fingers, and there was no resistance as I slipped two inside of her right away, my lips going to work on her throat as she moved her hips in time with my touches.

"You good?" I picked my head up from being buried in her neck to see her eyes clenched in concentration, her lips parted, her eyebrows tented as she continued to buck against my fingers.

"Mhm," she whined, her face pinching as she reached up to clench her fingers around my arm through my jacket.

I pushed my forehead against hers as I quickened my pace, slipping in a third finger and capturing her lips to swallow the rumbling moan before it escaped into the rest of the neighborhood.

I felt her mumble something like _Mmm, fuck_ against my lips as her hips shot into my hand, her release slipping over my fingers as I brought her down. I pulled my fingers out of her and brought them between us, sucking them between my lips before slipping my glove back on and helping her up.

She stood on shaky legs, her eyes still a bit woozy. I kissed her forehead before turning her around to admire our handy work. Before heading back inside, I kissed her cheek and said, "I like that one a little better," pointing to the strangled mess our intertwined limbs had made against the snow.

* * *

Jim Halpert is easily the most insatiable man I've ever met. I'm not complaining. But we were barely inside the door before he was already peeling my clothing off.

"Hey! Slow down there, hot pants. I need time to thaw!" I chuckled, pushing him away from where he had me pinned against the front door.

"Well, obviously that's what I'm trying to do," he argued, his cheeks and the tip of his nose still super red and adorable from being outside in the cold air. "What better way to defrost you?"

He cocked his eyebrow and had this whole come hither look in his eyes that just looked silly, so I shoved past him to slip off my boots. The animated sigh I heard from behind me was enough to make me laugh. I heard his snow stuff begin to hit the floor and worked to collect all of our things to shove into his dryer while I shooed him away to make us hot chocolate.

When I found him standing in his kitchen in his jeans and a long sleeved shirt, his hair disheveled from his beanie, his face still flushed, the desire I'd had just minutes ago when we were outside returned. I plucked the spoon that he was using to stir the hot chocolate from his hand and pinned him against the countertop instead, pulling his head down to mine as I immediately began to lick at his bottom lip, my other hand working his jeans down already.

"I thought you said you needed to thaw," he mumbled against my lips, the way his hands brushed against my breasts totally opposing those words.

"I do," I returned, pushing his jeans to the ground as I ran my fingers over the already prominent bulge in the front of his boxers, "but you clearly don't."

I followed his boxers to the floor, taking him in my mouth for the second time that day.

He pushed a long breath out as his eyes fell shut and he gripped the counter tightly behind him. I loved when he was vocal, when he cursed and moaned and said my name, but at the same time, these little quiet moments when he was speechless save for his breathing and his head cocked back in surrender were quietly some of my favorites.

My fingers tickled up his abdomen, pushing his long sleeved shirt so I could feel his skin. Almost immediately, as I traced the ridges of his muscles, was he pulling the shirt over his head and shucking it somewhere onto the kitchen tile. When his hands came back, one was on my shoulder and the other was in my hair.

I continued bobbing around his dick, flirting my tongue against his shaft as he fisted my hair and thrust softly against my lips.

When the hand on my shoulder wandered down to play with my nipples through my shirt, I moaned against his skin, and he plunged deeper into my throat as I leaned into his touch. His fingers fumbled their way beneath my own shirt, pulling it up my body with his eyes still closed, his hips still bucking erratically against my lips. As he pulled my shirt all the way off, his cock bobbed against my chest, and the urge overtook me.

I stilled his movements, watching him with his eyes fluttering, his head cocked to one side, his eyebrows pinching as he thrust into the air. I wrapped one hand around him as I pushed my breasts together with the other, and positioned him between them before I could rethink my decision.

I focused only on my chest, watching him disappear between my breasts just once before I heard him moan low, his hands landing hard on my shoulders, thrusting a few times before he stopped himself.

"Is this okay?" I asked, biting my lip, still reeling from the sensation of his cock between my breasts.

But there he was, a hand under my chin, his eyes full of so much want that I had to swallow noises of my own before he was nodding, and I was guiding him back to my chest.

I used the precum that was leaking to my advantage, rubbing his head between my breasts before pushing them around him again.

Watching him thrust against me, his cock disappearing in and out between my breasts was something so new and so wild that my entire body was on edge. The sensations were overwhelming; his fingers digging into my shoulders so that I could feel his fingerprints burning my skin, the sounds coming from his throat like nothing I'd heard before, the slick feel of him pumping against my chest like he had to race against time.

I lapped at his tip each time he passed through, wanting more of him than I was getting, which was saying a lot. He reached down to rub his thumbs against my nipples and my breath caught in my throat.

I moaned, spitting down my chest once before trapping him there again and watching him lose himself as he pushed against me, his breath quickening with each thrust.

It was the pinching of my nipples that made me lose it, wondering how I hadn't just come myself, as he slipped out, a shocked grunt catching in his throat.

When I leaned forward, taking him between my lips again for just a taste before repositioning him, he stopped me, one on my hand that was wrapped around him, the other under my chin to direct my gaze upwards.

There was something in his eyes then, something both wanting and haunting at the same time.

I understood, as he pulled me up from my knees and into his arms, a tender hug in the midst of something so quite the opposite.

I pressed my lips to his chest, my fingers trailing slowly along his spine as he gripped me more tightly. When I pulled away enough to look up into his eyes, he looked hazy with lust, but conflicted, too. All I could do in that moment was reassure him, and I cradled his cheeks, pulling him down to my lips as I melded our bodies back together, back to the way they should be.

He was hesitant at first, but as my hands continued to roam, and I guided one of his between us, to show him how turned on I truly was, he became himself again; no sooner were we kissing fervently against the kitchen countertop than he had me pinned against the opposite wall with my leg hoisted up and over his shoulder.

He was hard and heavy against my stomach as he buried his lips against my neck, sucking my skin while he plunged two fingers inside of me. I groaned into his clavicle, bit my lip and pulled his waist harder against me as I felt him trying to control his hips when they rocked against me.

It wasn't long before I was guiding him inside of me. His thrusts were hard and quick, the sounds of our bodies slapping together no louder than his grunting that mingled somewhere with my own moaning.

As I felt myself tightening around him, he grabbed my other leg and hoisted me so that I was held up only by my legs around his waist, his body pinning me to the kitchen wall, his forehead pressed against mine. Without him needing to say a word, I opened my eyes and met his stare, the one that said everything he needed to without words.

He held himself to the wall with one hand and gripped my hip with the other, moving more quickly when I bit my lip and begged him to, my hands gripping at his neck.

I reached between us, stroking his balls as he all but tore his lip in two as his teeth came down and he shot his release into me, his fingers digging along my hips as he found my clit and brought me to the brink with a few quick strokes and my legs cutting of the circulation in his hips as I finished.

I only registered that we were on the floor when I felt myself in his lap, felt the tile against my feet when I started to release my grip on him. Suddenly he was shifting us, his back now against he wall instead, my body cradled to his chest, my head moving up and down quickly with his erratic breaths.

Somewhere along the way, we both fell asleep, stark naked, in the middle of his kitchen.

* * *

She was staring at me.

I knew if before I opened my eyes, before my body was truly awake.

So I kept my own eyes shut, and just let her.

I imagined the different looks that she might have on her face.

Sleepy still, imagining my dreams.

Undressing me with her eyes, trying to decide if she was going to wake me up with her fingers or her mouth.

Curious, as her stare tried to drill through to my thoughts.

So I was a bit surprised when I blinked my eyes open to a nervous, almost frightened stare. She was biting her lip in a way that did _not_ scream _Come and get it,_ but said something more along the lines of _Wondering_ and _Waiting_ and a whole lot of uncertainty.

So, as I was still coming to myself, I squeezed her more tightly, rolled us both onto our sides, and then realized that we were still on my kitchen floor.

Without a word, I scooped her up, and we were tucked under the covers on my bed before she could open her mouth.

I pressed her against the pillows not moments before I pressed my lips to hers, drinking away whatever it was that was worrying her, my tongue painting hers until the tension was gone from her body and she was wrapping herself around me again and sighing against my lips.

"Hey, wait," she was murmuring between kisses, between the stroking of my hands down her sides and between our bodies.

"Yeah?" I propped myself up just enough to see her, to find the color of worry swimming around her eyes, my fingers squeezing her thighs and coaxing her to wrap her body around me, to surround ourselves with one another, because in that moment, it was truly all I wanted.

"Earlier...that was...it wasn't too much?"

She was struggling to speak, but part of that was my fault, as I bent to suck on a nipple, to squeeze her other breast and grind our bodies together as my response to everything she was saying.

I shifted though, kissing her cheek, holding the rest of her head in a bear hug of my bicep before pressing my lips to her ears.

"I only stopped you because I wanted to have all of you," I promised her, feeling her body go slack just seconds before she was hitching herself higher into my embrace, nodding against me, reaching between us and wrapping her hand around me.

It wasn't slow this time, but it wasn't really fast either.

 _Passionate_ was definitely a word I would use to describe the way that our bodies were moving together.

I traced her jawline with my lips, her fingers tattooed the muscles in my shoulderes, I held our bodies together with one hand underneath her back while the other kept her face anchored to mine.

After we had both finished, and she was sleeping soundly against my chest, I watched the last remaining snowflakes tumble to the ground outside, and made the decision to call us off tomorrow, too.


	21. Chapter 21

**The One with Jim's Lil' Dainty Fingers**

Winter in Scranton was as boring as it sounded.

The constant snow and frigid temperatures had them essentially house bound between the months of November through mid-April at least. After too many nights of reality TV marathons, Jim was going stir crazy.

Which is how they ended up at Idle Hour Lanes on a dreary Saturday afternoon.

There weren't too many other patrons in the bowling alley as Jim approached the counter to pay for their lane and shoes. He was taken aback when the bleach blonde cashier turned around and he met the wide eyed stare of Ryan Howard.

"Uh, hey man," Jim started awkwardly, wishing that Pam hadn't wandered off to find them a pair of bowling balls.

Ryan gaped, blinking back a moment of hesitation before becoming nervously business-like as he rang up Jim's purchase and tossed a pair of size 8's and size 12's across the counter before hurriedly disappearing behind a door labeled "Staff Only."

Jim grabbed both pairs of shoes, shook his head, and made his way to Lane 7 where Pam was waiting with a ball for each.

She smiled warmly when he approached, offering a small, "Hey," as he offered her shoes and sat to put on his own.

"So, weird news," he began, toeing off his Converse and slipping into the tattered bowling shoes. "Ryan Howard just sold me these shoes."

Her head snapped up from where she was tying her own laces, her eyes bugged.

"No," she stated, "you're _kidding_."

He smiled smugly, patting his thighs as he shook his head from side to side.

"Nope. Not kidding."

Jim cocked his head behind their lane towards the counter.

"Just wait for Malibu Ken to turn around."

Ryan, who was spraying down a pair of shoes, eventually turned to put them on the shelf, making eye contact with Pam before he quickly ducked behind the counter.

With her eyes bulged and her lips pursed, she snapped her head back to Jim to share a silent laugh.

As Pam plugged their names into the computer (" _Really, babe? Do I have to be Slim Jim every time we bowl?"_ ), Jim rolled his fingers over the 9 pound and 11 pound balls she had left in the ball return.

Pam watched him pass the larger of the two between his hands, his eyebrows furrowing as his lips pursed into a pout. He then selected the smaller ball, drawing his fingers into the three holes and pulling them back out again several times before setting the ball down.

When he turned on his toe and wandered several lanes down, bending down to inspect ball racks before moving farther into the bowling alley, Pam watched, bewildered, before ultimately taking a seat to wait for him. When he returned, her eyebrows pinched in laughter.

"What?" Jim asked, replacing the hunter green 11 pound ball with his new one.

"Jim, you're not _serious_ , are you?"

She pointed at the sparkly pink ball that now sat cradled next to hers, a bright purple number 6 imprinted above the holes.

"It was the only one that my fingers fit into," he replied in seriousness.

Pam guffawed, holding up her hands in surrender.

"Hey, whatever you say there, slick," she challenged, biting back more laughter.

He rolled his eyes as she sidled past him and picked up her ball to approach the lane. He couldn't help but stare as she sashayed up to the arrows, her jeans hugging her ass just right. He leaned with his butt against the console, crossing his arms to watch her.

She turned before throwing, resting her chin atop her shoulder with a cocked eyebrow and a demure smile.

"Hey," she started, her words seeming to roll off of her tongue like silk, "if you're the one with the dainty fingers and the pink ball, I think that means I get to start taking charge of this relationship."

And without missing a beat, she knocked down all ten pins in one fell swoop.

Jim swallowed and adjusted his belt as she walked back towards him, winked, and sat down with her arms crossed.

"Show me what you've got."

He ended up hitting six total, which was saying something for the the current cloudiness of his head.

But eventually, they fell into a fun rhythm, with friendly competition falling to the wayside for balls tossed granny-style between their legs and a lot of dorky dancing to the pop soundtrack that played dully over the speaker system, only taking a quick break when their soda and pizza arrived.

Jim was moonwalking down the lane with his pink ball poised in front of his face and his eyebrows waggling across his forehead, leaving Pam in stitches, when a small hand poked repeatedly into his thigh. When he snapped his stare downwards, he met the big blue eyes of a blonde, pig-tailed little girl.

"'Cuse me, mister?" she started. "I think you have my ball."

While Pam brought her fist to her lips to bite back laughter, Jim's face flushed.

"We were having birthday cake in the party room and then my ball was gone," she continued, pointing at the pink ball.

"So, can I have it back?"

He nodded sheepishly, lowering the ball to the little girl's hands and watching her as she skipped back to the birthday party that he could now see emerging from the aforementioned party room. When he turned back to face Pam, his shoulders dropped with his head, and she laughed at him with her tongue between her teeth.

"Oh my god," she chuckled, standing with her arms crossed.

"I don't want to talk about it-"

" _Jim_. She was like, _six_ -"

"I don't-"

" _Six_ , Jim!"

Pam bent at the waist, her palms flat on her thighs as she continued to double over in laughter, Jim's neck reddening by the minute as he grabbed the 11 pound ball and chucked it quickly down the lane, hitting one lone pin before sitting behind the monitor.

Instead of taking her turn, Pam sat beside him, nudging him with her shoulder and a wide grin.

"So, dainty fingers, how's it feel to have your balls taken by a little girl?" she chuckled, her cheeks still pink with delight.

"Pam. Seriously," he pleaded.

"No, seriously, babe. I mean, I know I was giving you shit earlier, but your score is seriously about to plummet. Should I go over there and see if, maybe, I don't know, she wants to take the bigger one? I wouldn't want you to feel emasculated or something."

Jim rolled his eyes, sinking further into his seat, wiping one large hand across his face as Pam bowled a spare and headed to the tall counter for a drink of her Coke while Jim lofted a ball straight into the gutter.

She was mid sip, leaning against the counter, when he turned around and let his head hang back, lifting his face towards the ceiling, and she promptly spit her drink out in laughter, Coke spilling down the front of her shirt.

"It's not funny," Jim responded. "I don't know why you're laughing."

He shook his head, palming his forehead as he took a long swig of his own drink.

Despite the fact that she was laughing at his own misfortune, Jim couldn't help but notice how gorgeous she looked with her mouth wide in laughter, her eyes bright, her curls shining under the terrible lighting. He smiled in spite of himself, allowing the embarrassing flood to disappear as he knocked back the last of the pitcher.

"I'll be right back," she said, her words still tailed with chuckles. "I'm going to go blot this out."

She gestured to her shirt and he nodded, grabbing a slice of pizza as he watched her climb the two steps up to the carpeted area. Before she could get past the counter, she turned to eye him over her shoulder once more.

"Don't cause too much trouble while I'm gone, dainty fingers."

He choked on his pizza when she winked, her hips swaying as she disappeared behind the swinging bathroom door.

The blood in his body pulsed, some strange combination of her smile, her wink, her taunting, her ass swaying as he watched her bowl all afternoon.

Without a passing thought, he followed her.

She was standing in front of the dull mirror, using a wad of paper towels to blot out the front of her v-neck shirt. When the door slid shut and the lock clicked, she looked up, seeing his stare in the mirror. The intensity in his eyes froze her motions, her hands poised in mid-air.

She smirked, a cheshire smile winding its way onto her lips as she began to slowly blot out the wet spots again, only communicating with him through the mirror.

"Excuse me, dainty fingers, but this is the ladies' room." Her voice, a controlled sultry tone, was supposed to give her the upper hand, the one she'd had all afternoon. But what she hadn't expected was the quick movements of his long limbs, the short distance closed in no time at all.

His hands quickly came to spread one across her abdomen and one at her hip, pulling her flush against him.

She gasped, almost silently, as she felt him incredibly hard already against the small of her back, the paper towels falling to the floor without so much as a sound.

Their eyes locked in the mirror, and she watched as he bent to trace his nose along the shell of her ear, the air from his nostrils hot on her skin.

"I don't know, Pam."

When he spoke, his voice wrapped around her like dark chocolate. His fingers flexed on her hip, holding her in place.

"The last time you made a comment about my _dainty fingers, it was to ask me to put them inside you."_

His words were a whisper to anyone else, but her eardrums were on fire, her skin burning as the fingers splayed across her stomach pulsed, leaving imprints in her skin through her t-shirt.

"Just last night, if I recall," he continued, his lips behind her ear, barely puckering against her skin as his fingers stretched wider now, his longest one skimming the waistband of her jeans.

"Do you remember that?"

His finger nudged under the waistband then, the other hand stilling her hips as she tried to push herself against him.

"I had my lips between your legs, and you grabbed my hand and said, _Put your fingers in me Jim._ "

Her eyes closed, her head falling back to _thud_ against his chest as a wash of memories overcame her, hearing her own words on his lips pooling moisture between her legs.

Her breath quickened when his lips touched her neck, sucking so lightly that she had to focus her eyes on the mirror; he closed his and moved his mouth from her ear to her shoulder and back up again.

All the while, his fingers continued to budge past the waistband of her jeans.

"I'm just curious; were they _dainty_ then? Because, if I recall, you didn't seem to be complaining."

His thumb unhooked the snap of her jeans, and he immediately shoved his first three fingers below the waistband of her underwear, rubbing softly over the bare mound of skin that he found.

"In fact," he continued, the hand on her hip holding her more tightly to his body, "I'm pretty sure most of the words you were saying were undeniably filthy."

When the tip of his middle finger began rubbing slow, insistent circles over her clit, she reached up behind her to hold onto his neck, doing her best to climb inside his body.

"So, genuinely, I'm just a little concerned."

She sighed in protest when his middle finger dipped lower, the pressure on her clit disappearing, but her breath hitched again when he was painting up and down her slit.

"Am I not pleasing you, Pam?"

His first two fingers spread against her outer lips, her body begging to turn around and be absorbed by him, the teasing a delicious nightmare as she writhed against his front.

"Because if I'm doing something you don't like, I have to know."

She didn't know where to look. His eyes were a hypnotic black hole. His fingers were moving underneath her clothes at a tantalizing pace.

"You have to tell me so that I can fix it."

She used the grip that she had on his neck to pull herself up, needing to feel him moving against her, to bury her body into his.

They locked eyes, his fingers still teasing out and around her, one hand still holding her in place, stopping her from the desired friction. When he placed his lips against her pulse and sucked less than gently, she leapt up on her toes, and let a high moan escape the confines of her throat, and finally, he dove in.

His long fingers entered her, so slick already, and began to move slowly, pulling all the way out before plunging back inside.

He turned his head, sighing himself as he pressed his lips to her ear, continuing to drive his fingers inside her as she sighed and squeaked. Still hard against her back, he held her even more tightly to his body, grinding against her as he curled his fingers wetly inside of her.

"Is that good, baby?" he breathed.

He watched her in the mirror, nodding with her eyes closed, her brows pinched in pleasure as she twisted against him. He swept his thumb up and towards her clit, feeling her body push against him.

"God, _oh_ ," she moaned, gripping the sink in front of her as she continued to writhe on his fingers.

He quickened his pace, watching the blush in her face turn a deeper shade, transitioning from pink to red with the addition of a third finger.

" _Jim_ ," she whined, moving her hand from her neck to his forearm, her nails biting into his skin.

"Good?" His voice was like gravel in her ears.

" _Ahh_ ," was her response, high pitched as she did her best to meet him thrust for thrust.

He smirked, his lips quirking in the mirror for only a moment before his expression set in concentration.

Nudging her cheek with his nose, he kissed her cheek softly before mumbling, "Open your eyes."

When she obliged, her gaze was hazy and dazed, searching for reason as she fought to keep up.

"Watch. Watch yourself come," he commanded, his words low, his fingers slowing until her eyes locked onto the mirror before he quickened his pace to a footrace, driving his thumb against her clit until she was shuddering against him.

As she came down, her hands fell limply to the sink, her chest heaving with labored breaths as he pulled his slick fingers from her. He reached in front of her, his arms wrapped around her body as he pumped soap onto his hands and washed, his stare stuck on her reflection as the color in her skin faded again to a dull pink. After he dried his hands, he wrapped himself around her in a bear hug, resting his chin on her shoulder and smiling as she picked her eyes up to meet his gaze in the mirror.

He kissed her cheek, eyes not wavering as he watched her body doing its best to find its center again. As soon as her lips turned up in a lazy smile, he had her facing him, their noses touching, his still hard cock pressing insistently against her. Her moan was a whisper that bounced off his lips, and he had to bite his own to keep from undressing her in the bathroom of their local bowling alley.

"So, Beesly. Dainty?" He flexed his hands around her waist, his own hooded eyes seeking answers.

"Mmm. No. Nope. Definitely not," she managed, her hands limp against his chest.

He bent to kiss her softly, a slow touch of lips, before bending to her ear and whispering, "I'm going to need a minute to, uh, calm down. Why don't you head out of here first?" and propping his body against the wall next to the sink.

What the cameras caught that Valentine's Day was Phyllis and Bob sneaking away for a lunchtime quickie.

What they didn't quite catch was the prodding of _You just have little dainty fingers,_ and the car ride home that had her eyes pinched shut while he kept one hand on the wheel and the other buried in her skirt.

* * *

Ryan Howard was no idiot.

Sure, he had been sent to prison on a not-so-legal business ideal.

But he was no _idiot_.

When Jim followed Pam into the bathroom that day, he looked like he was on a mission.

Ten minutes later, Pam emerged looking thoroughly flushed, and Jim followed behind with a big ole smirk on that stupid face of his.

After they were gone, having left their balls in the ball return like a pair of real assholes, and he was sent to pick up after them as _Head Shoe Bitch._

He couldn't help but notice that Jim's ball had a funky smell to it.


	22. Chapter 22

**The One with the Fun and Games**

Jim was pacing a hole in the floor.

His first Valentine's Day with Pam _had_ to go off without a hitch. It just _had_ to. But after a lovely dinner that he insisted on cooking, and dancing in the kitchen (dancing that _wasn't_ swaying, but wasn't technically _not_ swaying, since that's really all they did while they stared into one another's eyes with goofy grins shared between soft kisses), she disappeared into the bathroom and had yet to come out. And that was seventeen minutes ago.

He hoped she wasn't sick.

Hoped she hadn't jumped out the window and ran off into the night at the realization that she didn't want to be with him after all.

Did he even _have_ a window in his bathroom?

The thought made him panic, and he was heading towards the hallway, breaking her strict, "Do not, under any circumstances leave this kitchen," order, just as the bathroom door creaked open.

Following her cute pink toes upward, he realized why she wanted time alone. Her new set of lingerie was simple, a light pink bra and panties set that was satin and trimmed in lace. Her legs looked shiny, and one whiff confirmed that she had applied that new Moroccan oil lotion that he liked to bury his nose in. The bra was definitely some sort of push-up, and her breasts seemed to be overflowing in a way that made him want to bury his nose there, too.

She smiled shyly, ducking her head as she said softly, "Do you like it?"

"Yes," he affirmed, nodding quickly as he closed the distance between them and crushed her lips beneath his. She let out a small squeak of a moan before running her hands up and down his chest, eventually threading them up into his hair to pull him closer.

"I think you might be a little overdressed," she breathed when he gave her lips a brief respite, and promptly started pulling at the hem of his sweater until he tugged it over his head himself while she worked on his belt. As soon as she had his dress pants pushed down to the floor, she ran her fingers along the elastic band of his boxer briefs and pulled back to take a peek.

"Wow, did you get yourself a new lingerie set, too?" she giggled, scratching over the white letters that spelled out _Calvin Klein._

"Hey, don't knock 'em 'til you try 'em," he scoffed, grabbing hold of her fingers to kiss them. "I only bought them because they're comfy."

"Sure," she teased, scrunching her nose. She looked so cute when she did that, and he tugged on her hand to kiss her nose before resuming the heavy, languid kisses at her lips.

She eventually pushed him away, her hands resting on his hips as he fingered the waistband of her panties.

"Good Valentine's Day present?"

" _Great_ Valentine's Day present. Excellent. Ten-out-of-ten. Would definitely receive again."

She giggled, scratching her hands up and down his white cotton t-shirt and letting her eyes follow.

"I, umm...I have one more surprise for you though. They kind of go together."

His eyes widened and he wagged his eyebrows at her before she took his hand and led him to his bedroom where she pulled a few packages from the drawer in the nightstand on her side of the bed. She turned the packages over in her hands a few times before jutting them towards him and pulling away as soon as he took them from her.

He stared down at three sets of sex dice, each with a different theme or purpose, ranging from simple words to pictures of positions. Jim's eyes bugged from his head, as his first thought brought him back to the summer that all of his friends had finally turned eighteen and dicking around in adult entertainment stores. He must have been stuck down memory lane for too long, because suddenly, her nervous words pulled him back to reality.

"I don't know, I just...I thought, maybe we could…"

Her skin was turning a pink that complimented the color of her new underwear, and he watched her stare down at fidgeting hands for only a beat before he wrapped his arms around her and he kissed her temple.

"Beesly. This is seriously awesome. Okay?"

He pulled away and saw a hint of worry in her eyes that he quickly tried to dismiss.

"You sure?"

"Absolutely. I mean…" he grabbed one of the sets, thumbing over the plastic packaging with one hand as he kept a firm hold on her with the other. "It's kind of a huge turn on to not know what you're going to do to me next."

She peered up at him, still a bit wary, so he continued. She shuddered under his palm as his words came out in a whisper and continued to do so as he read the dice out loud.

"I mean, you could be licking…"

He ran his tongue lightly against the patch of skin under her ear.

"Sucking…"

His lips captured the skin, sucking lightly as she mewled and fisted the base of his t-shirt in her hand. He pulled his lips from her skin long enough to shuffle the packages around in his hand before resuming.

"This one even tells you where, Beesly. I could get neck…"

He peppered light kisses from her ear to the base of her throat.

"Stomach…"

Suddenly he was on his knees in front of her, his eyes wide as he stared upwards, ensuring that her eyes were locked with his as he kissed the skin between the pieces of her new lingerie.

"Thighs…"

He ducked his head then, the soft smacking sounds of his lips leaving marks along her skin intermingling with the soft moans that she made above him. His tongue darted softly from the back of her knee up to the edge of her new lace-trimmed panties. He mirrored his actions on her other leg, stopping to pepper a line of kisses along the panty line, to suck gently at her sensitive skin.

"Babe," she breathed in a half moan, half giggle, "knock it off or we won't even get to play with them!"

She tugged on his hair, and he stifled a groan as he kissed along her bare skin on the way back up, ending with a prolonged kiss on her lips that she ended before he could sneak his tongue between them.

"Would that be so bad?" he asked, ducking in for another kiss.

"Well, considering I paid good money for these bad boys, yes, yes it would," she answered, pulling away teasingly.

"In that case," Jim started, kissing her lips soundly before sitting on the edge of his bed, "let's dig in."

They tore through the plastic wrapping of each of the three dice sets, being careful to keep each set separate as they rolled them around and passed them to one another to investigate.

"So, which one did you want to start with?" Pam asked, inspecting the set that she had in her hands.

"Uh uh, slick. This was _your_ idea. You pick." He smirked in her direction, cocking an eyebrow. She gave him a sidewise glare and went back to inspecting her purchases.

"I guess...why don't we start simple? This one doesn't seem bad."

He peered over to where she was sitting on the bed next to him, two sets of dice between them on the bed, and one clutched in her palm. Her lip was tucked nervously between her teeth. Before he could even meet her wary eyes, he scooped the unused dice into his hand to push them higher up the mattress and scooted her into his lap, wrapping one hand around hers that held onto the dice as he spoke against her lips.

"How about a little warm up?"

She smiled against his lips and nodded before he was coaxing hers apart, sliding his tongue to meet hers, and capturing the soft sigh that she breathed into him. His hand was tangled in her curls at the back of her head when she shifted to straddle him, feeling his erection beginning to grow as she sat atop his lap and moved her hips softly. He held onto her side with his other hand, stroking up and down her soft skin as she cupped his face and deepened the kiss, laved his tongue with hers, and drank him in.

When he sat up a big straighter, she in turn shifted higher in his lap, which positioned her directly over his hard on, and he groaned at the interaction, thrusting softly against her warm center, holding her firmly against him. She pulled her lips away and pressed a chaste kiss to the corner of his lips as she muttered, "Warmed up?"

He nodded furiously, his cheek against hers, as she brought the hand holding the dice out from around his back. He snagged her by the wrist and kissed each finger from pinkie to first, his tongue darting out swiftly on her last finger before he said, "For good luck."

She bit her lip, but this time in anticipation, as her body was already charged and begging to be touched. She took a breath, shook the dice in her hand, and rotated her hips in his lap once more before letting the dice fall soundlessly on the mattress to her side.

Her reaction was a loud, stunned chuckle.

His was a palm to the face that released a resounding _smack._

One dice read _Eat!_

The other _With Clothes On!_

"Didn't we just do that?" Jim complained. "We can skip this one, right?"

He placed both hands on her hips, pulling her so that she was flush against his hardness once again, and although she bit her lip to hold back a squeak and closed her eyes and cocked her head back slightly at the contact, she shook her head and slowly began to say, "Nope. The dice have spoken. To the kitchen!"

Jim groaned, standing with her as she pulled him up by the hand and all but dragged him down the hallway. When she stopped at the entryway, her head cocked in thought as she mulled over where to start. She finally decided on the fridge, and as she wrapped her fingers around the handle, Jim grabbed her by the hips, closing the distance between them as he nestled his erection against her ass and placed his lips at the sensitive skin behind her ear.

"You sure you wanna spend our night in here, when we could be...elsewhere?"

It stunned him a bit when she bumped him away with her butt and opened the fridge anyway.

"Trust me, baby," she tossed over her shoulder, "I'll make this worth your while."

The look in her eyes, the curl in her lips, made him shudder.

She turned with a bowl of strawberries in her hand, snaking her way between Jim and the countertop, her body pressing against his teasingly.

"I had these ready for dessert, anyway. No reason we can't have them now."

She shrugged, pushing the bowl beneath his nose so that he could see before setting it down on the counter behind her. As soon as the bowl was out of the way, she placed her hands on either side of the counter behind her and propped herself up onto the laminate.

Jim pushed his way immediately towards her, but she locked her legs at the ankle and reached instead for the bowl, pushing his hips away with her knees. When the head of his cock bumped against her leg, he pushed a thin line of air through his nose and closed his eyes.

"Hey. It said _eat_ , cowboy," she warned, cocking an eyebrow mischievously.

After shaking his head, he settled his palms on the counter on either side of her balanced his weight there. Once she was content with his position, Pam plucked a strawberry from the bowl and placed the short end at her lips. He watched, his pupils dilating as she puckered her lips and slid the strawberry halfway between them, sucking it lightly in and out.

Jim leaned in, mimicking the movement of the strawberry between her lips, his body thrusting softly in and out. As she finally pulled it all the way in, he leaned his body against her folded legs, humming at the friction, and watched her subtly chew and swallow. A bit of juice dribbled down her chin, and when he ducked in to catch it with his tongue, she pulled away, clicking her tongue quietly before licking her own lips. He shuddered, shook his head, and waited.

She plucked another strawberry from the bowl, and placed it this time against his parted lips, resting it against the bottom one and urging him with her eyes to close. When she brushed slightly against him with her bent knees, he stifled a groan, closing his lips around the berry as he gripped the countertop with white knuckles. She held his gaze as he chewed and swallowed, panting as he finished.

He leaned forward immediately with the intention of nibbling next on her lips, but was stopped short when she placed her index finger against them, scratching his upper lip lightly. He gazed up, his eyes pleading, but she smiled mischievously, shook her head subtly, and put one more berry against her own lips.

Before she put it in her mouth, she whispered, "Come get it," and he groaned as his teeth closed around the other end, her lips juicy and sweet as they barely touched, because as soon as she bit all the way through, she pulled away to finish her end. As soon as she was done, he had a hand splayed around her back, pulling her against him though her legs were still awkwardly bent between them.

He pushed his forehead against hers before her hands were both shoving forcefully against his chest.

He whined, then breathed, "Fuck, just roll them again." She was tempted, as moisture pooled through her panties, to just let him fuck her right there on the kitchen counter. The game had barely begun and he was already melting into a puddle, his breathing labored and his fingers twitching against her and his eyes pinched shut. She bit back the moan in her throat, and instead lifted his chin with her first two fingers.

"Wait," she whispered against his lips. "I have...one more."

His fingers flexed against her back, and while holding his gaze, she reached around to remove his hands and place them on either side of her once more. His breathing was heavy as she reached behind her and pulled a banana out of the bowl that sat in the middle of the counter. The spell was momentarily broken, because Jim was raising an eyebrow and chuckling.

"Really?"

She scrunched her eyebrows at him in return, cocked her head as she tried not to laugh at the audacity of what she was about to do, and peeled the banana near her lap as they made silly eyes at each other. The comedy drained from his eyes as soon as she brought the banana to her mouth.

She smiled at first, giggled as her tongue ran along the side, and though she was being absolutely lewd with his bowl of morning snacks, Jim couldn't get past how fucking cute she looked with her teeth smiling and her eyes bright. But then, she was putting the whole goddamn thing in her mouth, and she wasn't cute anymore. She was wrapping her lips around the fruit, pulling it slowly in and out of her mouth. She was taking it all the way in, and bringing it out, and licking at it slowly. She was about to make him come in his pants.

She was choking.

On the banana.

And now, she was laughing, her eyes pinched as she silently giggled and bent slightly at the stomach.

He couldn't help it. He started laughing too.

"Oh my god," she breathed, high-pitched. "I can't believe I just did that."

She set the banana on the counter and rested her forehead heavily against his shoulder as laughter rolled through her. Jim hugged her tightly, scratching his fingers against her back as she eventually steadied herself again. But her breathing went from laughter to labored as she felt him twitch against her closed legs. His own heartbeat quickened when she let her thighs part slowly, her leg brushing against his throbbing erection, and he nudged her head with his nose, fully intent on swallowing her whole.

But she stopped him, her hands on his chest, her nose squished against his, her breathing hot on his cheeks.

"Dice," she barely whispered before hopping off the counter, her eyes clouded with lust as she slid past him.

His hands were on her hips as they entered the hallway, but before he could pull her against him, she put an arm between them again, resting low on his stomach. She could feel his heat from there.

"The dice didn't say anything about touching yet," she warned, and he all but shoved past her to where they sat innocently on the bed.

He groaned when his roll turned up _Kiss!_ and _With Clothes On!_ and reached for her anyway. She scooted away again, and he was beginning to grow frustrated in more than one way when she closed the fist that was resting at his shirt collar and tugged a little.

"Hey," she said softly.

"This is unfair," Jim whined, and Pam let out a tiny giggle. "We already used _with clothes on._ Isn't there a rule that says we can't use it again?"

"No," she trailed, "but, I think we can make it fun."

"Please, elaborate. I'm _dying_ to know how this could be fun." His words dripped with equal parts frustration and sarcasm, and she rolled her eyes, but pulled him towards her anyway.

"Like this," she breathed against his lips, right before pulling his bottom lip between her teeth and sucking hard.

" _Fuck_ ," he groaned, and reached for her. But she grabbed his hands and planted them firmly on the bed. "I thought you said you were going to make this fun?"

"This is the fun," she promised, keeping her hands atop his until she knew he wasn't going to move.

He didn't quite understand, until she was up on her knees next to his splayed legs letting her lips do all the work. She kissed him languidly, her lips moving slowly over his for long strokes before she eventually let her tongue tease his bottom one before sneaking between his lips.

When her tongue touched his, Jim groaned shortly, his hips jutting upwards and his hands clenching as he did his best to _not touch_. As their tongues wound together, he felt her body jerk next to him, and realized what was so _fun_ about this little game. It was the chase, the want that was radiating in waves of heat from both of their bodies. He decided to up the ante.

Tugging her bottom lip between this, he sucked gently, smiling as she grunted and leaned closer. When she pulled back and captured his lips roughly, it was his turn to do the same, because she sucked his tongue into her mouth and he was suddenly longing for her to do those things elsewhere.

She breathed, "Roll again," as he bit her bottom lip, and gripped his upper thigh hard as he handed her the dice; she didn't even roll them, just let them flop to the comforter long enough for him to grunt, "Suck thighs," and shove her backwards onto the mattress.

Something about the teasing nature had brought out an aggression in Jim's eyes, and Pam was craving so much more. She bit her bottom lip as she balanced herself on her forearms and let him shove her legs apart, watching as he all but plunged his lips between her legs and started sucking small patches up and down the insides of her thighs. She wanted his hands on her, in her, wanted him to put out the fire, but when she laced her fingers in his hair, his lips were gone, and he was suddenly hovering over her with a wild look in his eyes.

"Gotta play by the rules, Beesly," he growled, and laced their fingers together as knelt again between her legs.

"Watch," he commanded, and she moaned, her eyes rolling back in her head before she watched his lips begin their slow suction of her soft skin.

He was letting his teeth into the mix now, biting her supple skin less than gently as he continued to let his lips play everywhere, down near her knee, underneath as he lifted her leg into the air, right against the line of her panties. When his tongue snaked out to tease at the apex of her thigh, she cried, " _Fuck_ ," and jerked forward into his touch, squeezing his hands tightly enough to turn his skin white.

His lips were gone and he was rolling the dice again, and when they landed on _Lick!_ and _?_ , he couldn't get her panties off quick enough.

When his tongue touched her suddenly, she couldn't even pretend to be embarrassed at the noises he elicited from her. He held her hands still, but she fought him, wanting to push his head against her as he teased his tongue along her lips, doing nothing but light, barely there strokes. But then he quickened his actions, flattening his tongue to reach more of her, lapping in quick succession. When he finally entered her slick, sweet center, she was moaning uncontrollably.

"Jim," she cried, squeezing his hands enough to inflict a pain that he now craved. "Fuck, I need…"

He wiggled his tongue inside of her, then pulled out, returning to his slow, deliberate strokes. She bucked against him in an effort to get more, but he wouldn't budge.

"Hmm?" he hummed against her. "You need what?"

He flicked his tongue once against her clit, and she cried out, slipping down the mattress towards him.

"I'm so close," she breathed, her hips jutting off the bed. "I need you to make me come."

He thrust his dick against the mattress, doing his best not to scatter the dice to the floor. But this was turning him on in a way that he'd ever experienced. Watching Pam writhe and beg, letting her do the same to him. He didn't want it to end.

So he pursed his lips against her clit, kissed it softly, and murmured, "The dice didn't say I could make you come," before licking up her entrance once more and pulling away.

He placed the dice in her hand, squeezing his erection twice as he tried to steady his breathing. When she looked up at him, there was an animalistic fire in her eyes that both frightened him and made him want to fuck her up against the wall.

"So, that's how we're going to play?" she asked, her voice low and steady, causing his heartbeat to pick up again.

"Mhm," was all he could muster as she opened her hand to reveal her roll of _Suck_ and _Hand_.

He was sitting up, and she pulled his legs out so that they stretched across the bed and straddled his thighs, then scooted close enough so that his cock was just missing being nestled against her. He closed his eyes and pushed a breath through his nose.

When she pulled his right hand up to her mouth and wrapped her lips around his index finger, he threw his head back and thrust his hips forward.

She backed her own hips away just in time, but continued to work her lips and tongue around his finger, gently scraping her teeth along the bottom and causing him to grunt. She tugged at his wrist to pull his fingers from her lips, and then dragged his first two back in, letting her tongue run between them as she sucked.

Every time he moaned, she pulled back. Every time he thrust his hips towards her, she moved further away before scooting towards him again. The chase was making his head spin, and he didn't think it could get any worse until her lips were at his ear instead of around his fingers.

"God, I love what these fingers do to me," she whispered, her voice grainy as she clasped both of his fingers in her fist before sucking on them once more.

He let his head hang back, desperate to take them and bury them exactly where she wanted them, but she was rolling the dice and pinning his hands on either side of his body again as she nudged him to lay down, the dice reading _Lick!_ and _Naval!_

She released his hands long enough to discard his shirt, biting her lip as she moaned and let her fingers run once over his bare chest, scratching through the hair there before pinning his hands again. When her lips closed over his naval, her tongue darting in directly, the groan that he let out shook the bed, and she couldn't do much about the way his hips thrust against her stomach, his cock warm and strained against the seam of his boxer briefs. She continued letting her tongue play around his abdomen, enjoying the way that he would chase her with his hips and grunt and sigh and whine and clasp her hands roughly.

"Shit," he whined when her teeth bit at the skin just below his naval before her tongue darted out to soothe him.

He rolled them then, grabbing the dice in one hand and both of hers in the other, mimicking the way that she had pinned him to the bed as he rested his cock against her thigh. She tried to roll, tried to get them to click together, but he wasn't having it as he let go of the dice and used that hand to hold her thigh in place as _Nip!_ _Breasts!_ was revealed.

It was a wonder that her bra had stayed on for so long, but he peeled at slowly, brushing his fingers across the silky material. Her nipples were straining against it, had been for some time, and before he released the clasp, he leaned forward to play on the outside of the material, nipping at the skin that was poking through. When he scraped his teeth over her nipple, she moaned, and when he sucked her bra between his lips, her hips became so fitful that he had to stop and hold her down. He hadn't even undressed her yet.

Once he had peeled the bra from her shoulders, her breasts bounced, and his lips began a frenzy, teasing little nips over the soft mounds that she could barely keep track of. Once he closed his lips around a nipple, she lost control, her nails digging into his hands as her hips bucked into anything that she could press herself against.

"Oh, holy fuck," she yelped, her head cocked back as her eyes rolled closed.

He let his teeth close around her nipple, biting softly, and she moaned, making his cock throb. He gave in for the first time that night, grinding against her waist one, two, three times. The head of his cock started to poke out through the elastic, and his precum leaked onto her skin. It was that final straw that had her swiping the dice in her hand blindly as she pushed him to sit on his knees, joining him as she sat up herself.

His boxer briefs were shoved down his thighs and her hand was around him and pumping quickly in a way that made him see white. Her fingers squeezed him from base to tip, sliding up to the top and lingering in a soft squeeze of his head before he was latching onto her wrist to still her.

"What did it say?" he asked between long, messy strokes of her lips against his. Her hand was still clenching him, and he pulsed underneath her touch.

"I don't care," she breathed. "I had to touch you."

He pulled back, rubbed his forehead against hers, and peered down at the mattress.

Somewhere in her blind throw of dice, she had picked up one from a different set. Staring upwards at them were the dice _Pat! Ass!_ and a position dice that had her on all fours and him fucking her from behind.

It was the first time that night that he was the one pulling back, biting his lip as he laced their fingers together in a way that wasn't restraining. He waited as she read the dice and stared up at him.

"We don't-"

"Oh, but we do," she all but moaned, pushing their bodies flush together as she laced one hand through the hair at the nape of his neck, and continued to squeeze him with the other.

Jim groaned into her mouth, letting his tongue dance with hers sloppily as he thrusted into her grip a few times before stopping them again to kiss her nose, her cheeks, her neck.

"Turn around," he whispered, taking her hips gently in his hands. When she bent over in front of him, he all but came on her back, seeing her plump ass cheeks and her curls raining down her skin, the sexy, cheshire grin and the twinkle in her eye as she stared over her shoulder at him.

He squeezed her cheeks in his hand and watched her eyes close, did it again and watched her bite her lip, heard her moan, felt her back up further into his touch.

"Please, baby," she begged, scooting closer to him. "I can't take it anymore."

He nestled his shaft fully against her ass cheeks, and she bit down on her lip as he grinded against her, not quite close enough to be against her clit no matter how much she slid herself back into him

"Can't take what?" he asked, his voice rough and thick with a want, a need to hear her keep talking like that.

"I need you," she whined, gripping the comforter and grinding against him. "I need you to make come. Please, Jim."

He pushed the head of his cock at her entrance, bit his lip as he groaned, and squeezed her ass again.

"What do you want, baby?" he asked, fisting his shaft and running it down her slick folds to find her clit, to nudge against her softly before pulling away. He continued this pattern several times as he waited for her to respond.

"I want you to fuck me," she whispered, her forehead dropping to the bed as he nudged her clit again. "Oh shit."

"How do you want me to fuck you?" he continued, pulling his shaft to grind against her ass again as he let his fingers dance on her breasts, folding himself over her back and kissing the back of her neck.

"Hard," she whined. "Fuck, Jim, I want it so bad."

When he heard her voice hitch, he couldn't take it any longer.

He plunged into her with one swift thrust, and the feel of her muscles already pulsing almost brought him straight over, the sound of her high pitched whining fueling his thrusts as he grabbed her hips and began pounding against her.

"Oh shit, Pam," he moaned, his fingers digging into her hips. "God, you feel so good."

Her walls were drawing him in deeper than he'd been, this new angle making his head spin in a way that had him praying to his dick to last longer than a commercial break.

"Mhm," she moaned, meeting his thrusts as she pushed back against him.

He continued pumping in and out of her, his balls engorged and slapping against her thighs in the most delicious way. He reached underneath her with both hands and pinched her nipples again, pushing her breasts together and squeezing.

"Fuck," she whined, "harder Jim."

He was so lost in the feel of her, of her skin wrapped around him, that he didn't hear her.

"Hmm?"

"Fuck me...harder... _god_ ," she moaned, pushing her ass against him as he stuttered, rubbing up and down along his shaft.

"Fuck, Pam," he groaned, and grabbed her hips again, losing himself as he thrust into her again and again, feeling his cock begin to pulse more quickly inside of her.

He threw his head back, his mouth cocked open and his eyes pursed closed as he tattooed this feeling into his brain. When he opened his eyes, he saw the dice bouncing around, and remembered the other two from the roll.

Tentatively, he moved a hand back to her ass and squeezed first. She let out a squeak and he did it again, loving the way that she backed up into him. He slowed his thrusting as he raised his hand slightly away from her and tapped her skin in a way that wasn't rough, but still let out a shy _slap!_

" _Fuck_ ," she bit, and leaned forward with her face in the comforter.

He had stopped thrusting altogether now, his palm still laying where it had landed.

"Is this okay-"

"Do it again," she breathed, pushing her ass against him again.

He groaned, palmed her ass again, and picked up his thrusting, moving inside her as he lifted his hand and tapped her a little bit harder this time.

"Oh, shit," she cried out, and he was so close to losing it that there were stars behind his eyes if he closed them, so he just kept them open.

"Jim, I'm so close."

He stared down at her back, followed her bare spine up to her bouncing curls, and watched as her face turned sideways, her lips parted. When her eyes peeled open to stare back at him, her pupils were blown, and the want for him in her eyes was so hot that it drove him forward.

He grabbed her right ass cheek and squeezed hard as his left hand slipped underneath her to tick away at her clit. She came as soon as he lifted his right hand and let it go against her with a resounding _slap_.

The pulling of her muscles around his cock milked his own explosive orgasm, and he spilled himself inside of her in a series of thrusts that seemed to drag on for hours before he finally collapsed on top of her.

Eventually, he scooted so that his torso was more to the side, his nose buried in her shoulder as their breathing evened over the course of several long minutes. He nuzzled the crook of her armpit, then gently rolled her over onto her side before scooting up wrap himself around her.

She cozied up against him almost immediately, her hand falling limply at his waist as her nose buried against his chest hair.

"God, fuck me," she laughed finally, her words quiet.

"Okay, but can we wait a little while?" he asked. "I think you may have broke me."

She propped her chin against his pecs and grabbed his chin by the thumb as she smiled up at him.

"That's not what I meant," she chuckled.

He smiled and breathed a short laugh.

"I know," he whispered, and quickly pecked her lips.

They lay on top of the comforter for some time, his hands ticking slowly up her bare skin in a way that was more in a need to keep touching her than anything else. Eventually, as she shifted, she felt a die dig into her thigh and grabbed it to hold it between them.

"So...good Valentine's Day present part two?"

" _God_ was it ever," he exhaled.

She kissed his chest and nuzzled against him.

"Something you might do again?" she asked to his stomach.

"Absolutely. But uh, give me a little bit of recovery time?"

She laughed.

"Happy Valentine's Day, love."


	23. Chapter 23

Sometimes, I just want my boyfriend to fuck me up against a wall.

I'm not the only one, right? I'm not the only one who gets bored during a work day and spends her six and a half hours of downtime playing out various fantasies of him being a rugged mountain man in her head?

Today was just particularly bad, too. Thursdays were Jim's long days. He always scheduled client lunches on Thursdays, and then had basketball at the Y until the gym closed with some of his buddies. For me, it just meant that from one o'clock on, I was left to my own devices, with nothing in Jim's chair but emptiness, and nothing in my head but my memories of the sounds his body makes against mine as I basically played a four hour long porno of my own damn boyfriend like a movie reel.

I had a pretty decent poker face, so really, no one would ever know that, in my mind, Jim had me up against a wall while he growled into my ear how badly he wanted to destroy my pussy.

I mean, no one would know unless they rounded the high counter of the reception desk and noticed that I had been pressing my thighs together all afternoon.

It didn't help that I had a change in my birth control and had been off of it for a couple of days after a mixup with my insurance and the pharmacy. Jim and I had just used condoms this week, which wasn't the biggest deal in the world. He made a joke that he felt like he was back in college, so I gave him a real half-assed hand job and then asked if he wanted to help me study for my art final, to which he responded by carrying me into the shower and warning me that I couldn't make any noise because the others in the _communal bathroom_ might hear us. It had been awhile since I'd come _that_ hard.

So, hormonal and bored out of my fricken mind, I had nothing better to do with my time that night than send naughty texts to Jim while I futzed around my apartment.

I made myself dinner.

 ** _Jim. I haven't stopped thinking about you all day._**

Did the dishes.

 ** _Do you have any idea how badly I want to fuck you right now?_**

Sifted through my mail.

 ** _My panties have been soaked since you left at lunch._**

Pretended to work on an art assignment that I had due next week.

 ** _God, you probably look so damn sexy right now in your basketball shorts. Sweating. Panting. I might head down to the Y and take you at center court._**

Poured myself a glass of wine.

 ** _I want you to bruise me tonight._**

Turned on the TV.

 ** _Will you fuck me up against the wall? I don't think I'll be able to make it to the bedroom._**

Poured myself _more_ wine.

 ** _I hope you're hard when you walk through the door. I love seeing your cock through your shorts. That gets me so fucking geared up._**

Slipped my hand past the waistband of the boxers of his that I was wearing.

 ** _You're not here, so I'm touching myself. Wearing your clothes. Think about that on your way over here._**

My own fingers were useless at this point in my relationship with Jim Halpert. It was like my body was on guard to reject anything that wasn't a part of his body. I stroked myself lazily as I imagined him breaking my door off its hinges to get to me faster.

"Hey."

I lifted my head up off the arm of the couch as the door, unfortunately, swung open soundlessly with his arrival. My lips were parted and my lidded gaze found him as he toed off his gym shoes by my front door. The hand beneath my panties twitched upon seeing him delightfully rumpled and freshly showered from a night at the gym. I moaned quietly, and saw his brow twitch.

"Do you have _any_ idea how hard it is to play productive basketball after you spend your halftime reading a _romance novel_ of filthy texts?"

He slipped his second shoe off and approached me on the couch with this big goofy Jim grin and a delighted twinkle in his eye.

Which was strange, because the Jims in my head all had eyes the color of coal and weren't in the mood for laughing.

I sat up, leaving my fingers resting against my slick center unmoving.

"Do you have any idea what I've been thinking about all day?"

I could feel the thickness in my voice, could feel the heat in my chest, and knew that my eyes were dark with want.

"Yeah, you nympho," he chuckled, sidling next to me on the couch. As he took his seat, I slipped my hand out of his boxers and clenched it into a fist, tucking it into my side next to me. Jim slid his arm around my waist, pulling me against his side as he pressed his full lips against my cheek. My entire body ignited at every point of touch, and I sighed, leaning into him.

"I missed you today," he whispered. Before I could tell him, _show him_ just how much I'd missed him, he was up and across my living room. He stood in front of the refrigerator with the door wide open by the time I realized he was seriously rooting around in my fridge instead of between my legs in one way or another. "Hey, do we have any of that leftover Chinese?" he called over his shoulder.

I mumbled, _You've gotta be fucking kidding me_ under me breath and stomped into the kitchen, on a mission now.

"What was that?" he asked, bending over at the waist to peer into my fridge for leftovers that weren't there because I'd already eaten them in an effort to distract myself.

"You're seriously thinking about food right now?"

He cocked his head from halfway inside of my refrigerator, shooting me an incredulous grimace.

"Uh, Pam? I had a late lunch meeting with a client, and we at one. It's _ten thirty_. I am fucking starving."

"Well, I am, too," I scoffed.

"Oh. Cool. We could just order something then." He stood, and I swear to God if I wasn't trying to abuse his body in a different way right now, I would have slapped him.

He didn't get it. I don't think he was taking my fucking all-day want seriously.

So I stuck his hand in my pants.

His sharp intake of breath, the flex of his fingers against my pussy, was almost too much. I let out a sharp, high pitched sound, my mouth wide open and my eyes closed in bliss.

His forehead hit mine, and I consequently backed partly into the wall.

"Wait, you weren't just like...fucking around with those texts?"

"No, are you...I wasn't _fucking around_. I want you in me so fucking bad."

I slid my back up the wall by standing on my toes, which enabled his fingers to slide against me more.

" _Mhm_ ," I sighed, rubbing my lips together. I squeezed his hand under mind, willing him to just _get it_. His fingers flexed again before tentatively moving up and down my slit, effectively drenching his hand as I heard him bite back a groan.

"If I hadn't been so busy playing with myself when you came in, I'd have pinned you against the door until you promised to fuck me into it," I offered in a desperate attempt to egg him forward.

" _Jesus_ ," he breathed.

And finally, something clicked in that brain of his. His fingers shifted, two of them pressing roughly up into me with a grunt as his other hand gripped my hip roughly, turning me so that I was flat against the wall.

"Oh, shit yes," I squealed, gripping onto his forearm as his fingers plunged in and out of me at the brutal pace I'd been craving all day.

"You've really been thinking about this all day?" he groaned, nipping at my ear between words.

" _All_ day," I assured him. I picked one of my feet up and linked it behind his knee to tug him towards me.

His fingers drilled into me harder, and when I bit my lip in a cry of pleasure, his lips sucked roughly where my jaw met me throat.

"You said you were touching yourself before I got here?" When I nodded, he moaned and gripped my hips tighter, lifted me up higher against the wall with his pounding fingers. "God, that's so hot, Pam. You playing with your clit while you think about me? _Fuck_."

Without warning, three of his fingers were inside me, scissoring back and forth at a wrecking pace that turned my vision black, and then whitewashed. I cried out and wrapped my leg around him tighter. He sucked and nipped at my neck, biting when I grabbed onto the back of his head to hold him there. Moments later, I felt my first orgasm ripping through me, the slick sweet sounds of his hands rapid as I flexed my legs around him and cried out against his hair.

He slowed down only a little, as my breathing came in hot pants against his cheek. When he asked, "You good?" I had barely nodded before he picked me up and dropped me with a loud _thud_ on my kitchen table. He had the boxers I was wearing off of me before he gripped my thighs and pulled my aching center towards his mouth.

"You're so wet for me, Pam," me mouthed against me before kissing my soaked lips with his full ones. "You get so wet for me when you come." His tongue began to clean up the remnants of the orgasm he'd just milked from me, and I jerked against his lips, seeking my second high. Sometimes, I would come, and my fill would be satiated. But others, like right now, the first one opened the damn floodgates, and I spent hours letting him chase an endless number with me.

He fed right into my thrusting hips; his strong hands gripped my thighs from the inside and spread me wider to him while his tongue pressed into me. It wasn't the fulfillment I wanted, but the slick strokes against my walls and the bruising pressure of his fingers on me was a wonderful sensation, and my head tilted back, hitting the wood of my table and pushing me more onto his mouth. I reached down and fisted his hair in my hand, pulling him onto me roughly as I palmed my still t-shirt covered breast.

He hummed against me, adjusting his grip so that it was tighter before taking my clit between his teeth, just enough so that I snapped into a sitting position with a yelp.

"Was that-"

" _So_ good," I assured him, weaving my fingers in his hair. "So good, baby. Keep going. More."

He took that as his cue to resume, but this time, his lips sucked my clit hard and his fingers were back inside of me, turned to face my front wall as he beckoned roughly, leaving one of my legs limp. I wrapped it around the back of his neck, squealing as his tongue did unspeakable things to me.

"Come on, Pam. Come for me again. Come on my tongue." When I exploded all over his mouth, I felt the vibrations in his grunt, in the words he mouthed against me as he moaned, "Yeah, oh fuck, that's so good. You taste amazing," his tongue continuing to fuck me and taste every last drop that he was squeezing out of me.

When he had finally gotten his fill, he balanced on one knee in front of me, his pupils blown and dark as he palmed my cheek and pulled me roughly to his waiting lips. He tasted like me, and his lips were frantic and sloppy against mine. I felt so small with both of his hands holding my face to him. I lay both of my hands atop his on my cheeks and we stood together, him towering over me in a possessive way that made me crazy and needy.

I let him back us against the kitchen wall and immediately hooked a leg around his back. His erection pressed into my stomach and I began grinding roughly against him right away, earning a groan, and a rough push of his body against mine. His lips were attacking me with a bruising pressure that made me moan into each kiss, each swipe of his tongue, each suck of my lips and tongue between his. I hooked my hand around to grab his ass and squeeze him, setting a quicker pace for his thrusting, because I still wasn't quite satisfied. Though now, if we kept going at this rate, I could very easily come for a third time in a matter of minutes.

"You like seeing what you do to me?" he asked, touching his tongue to my lips before pulling away. I whined, but it was worth it to see him pull back. He held me to the wall by the chest with one hand, which played right into the fantasy I'd been having all day where he was in total control. I couldn't decide what was turning me on more-that simple act, or the way he pointed to his obvious erection before tugging it into his other fist.

"Do you enjoy making me this hard?" he asked, his hand pulling roughly at his cock. "You like that, huh?"

"Yeah," I whined, reaching out towards him. I shoved his hand away, staring at his tented shorts for a minute, letting my mouth water before I shoved them and his briefs to the floor and followed them down.

I licked at the dripping bead of precum before sucking his thick head between my lips. I fisted him with both hands, twisting around his shaft as my lips and tongue worshiped his head. Both of his palms hit the wall above my head and he began to shallowly thrust into my mouth.

"Oh, oh shit, Pam. Just like that. _Just_ like that," he sighed. Then, as my fingers gripped him more tightly, "Grab my balls." I loved hearing his voice when we were like this. It was a huge turn on, and I squeezed my thighs together, moaning around his cock as I gave him what he wanted. His thrusting became more erratic, and he pulled himself from my mouth with a light _pop_ before forcing me up by my chin with two fingers.

The gaze in his eyes was animalistic, and I wanted so much more of it. We made out sloppily against the wall, his slick cock pressing against my stomach, sliding against my body as we wiggled one another out of our t-shirts. He trailed his tongue along the tops of my breasts before burying his nose between them and shaking his head quickly before biting one of the swells.

"Jim," I cried. "I can't fucking take it anymore."

I reached between us and dragged his cock towards my opening, but he stopped me short, linking our fingers together instead.

"Tell me how you want it, Pam. Tell me what you want me to do." It was more of a demand than a question.

"I want you fuck me against this wall until I can't see straight," I deadpanned with more than a hint of pleading in my tone. "I want to wake up tomorrow and have trouble walking. I want to sit at my desk and still feel you inside me until we get home tomorrow and you do it all over again."

"Jesus, Pam," he grunted, and picked me up to carry me to the table once again. I spread my legs, biting my lip as I looked up to see his cock standing on end, waiting to be buried inside of me. "You want me to fuck you?" he asked, pressing his head against me.

"Please," I cried.

"Hard?"

"Give it to me, Jim," I pleaded.

But then he stopped short.

"Fuck...Pam. I'm...we used the last condom last night."

He poised himself above me like a deer in headlights, unmoving despite the fact that my legs were parted widely enough to take up the entire goddamn kitchen table and his cock was visibly throbbing. I sat up and fisted his shaft, tugging roughly back and forth as I scooted forward.

"James Duncan Halpert, I swear to God I'm going to kill you in your sleep if you don't stick your cock in me. Just...pull out or something, I do _not_ care right now."

In hindsight, it was _not_ my smartest moment. But in the same moment, my sex drive was steering the ship, and she wanted this man more than anything to just _take her_. He nodded, and as he pushed hard and fast into me, my body bowed towards him like an exorcism.

His thrusts were deep, and when he gripped my thighs and pushed them apart even further, I cried out at the intense, painful pleasure that ripped through me. He pulled his shaft out all the way before plunging back into me every time, and I almost cried it felt so good.

"Harder, Jim. I want to feel it everywhere."

He gripped my thighs more, grunted in determination as his pace picked up, and the echoing of his body created resounding _slaps_ on my kitchen walls. The table shifted beneath me on every thrust in and out, and my back dragged against the wood, but it was nothing compared to the feeling of the crazed thrusting of Jim's dick inside of me.

"That's it," I breathed, reaching out for any of him that I could hold onto.

"Is this what you wanted?" he grunted, pulling one of my legs up and around his back. "Me fucking you like this?"

" _Yeah_ ," I whined, my hand leaning on his chest.

"You're so tight, Pam," he continued, not losing a beat with the hardness of his thrusts. "So tight, so wet for me."

I managed some semblance of an _Uh huh_ and wrapped my leg more tightly around him.

"You're going to come for me again," he demanded, his fingers invading my clit as he continued to thrust with snapping precision. As if on command, my body bowed towards his touch, and my cries filled the air as a wave of pleasure ripped through me.

He slowed some while my pussy milked him, and as my spent body sank into the table, he reached down to squeeze my breasts, to kiss the space between them, to kiss my lips even though I couldn't yet respond. When he bent over me, pressing his forehead to mine, I whispered against his lips, "Jim. Jim I wanna feel you come. Please."

He groaned, flicking his tongue against my lips before the pace of his pumping resumed. He pulled my knees up so they were steepled on the table and gripped them for balance. It wasn't long before I saw his eyes roll back and then close, his head tilting towards my ceiling.

"Pam, I can't...oh _fuck_ you feel so... _shit_."

In an instant he was slipping out of me and straight into his hand. Gripping my side with the other for balance, he fisted his cock and jerked roughly until he spilled in hot white spurts onto my stomach. His hips jutted erratically into his hand, and spastic grunts and _Ah's_ joined his movement until he was entirely drained. He looked so sexy, standing above me spent with his cock in hand, his eyes fluttering, his lips parted. If we hadn't just basically killed each other, I'd be asking him for more.

He dropped his forehead to my knee, his warm breath quick and short as he tried to bring himself back to earth. I scratched my fingers up and down his back, and he hummed appreciatively before pulling my fingers to his lips to gently kiss them.

Eventually, after he had cleaned me up and we got him something to eat before he literally passed out, we found ourselves naked in my bed in a state of exhausted cuddling. As his fingers traced me lazily up and down, I felt my skin bruising in several places in the shape of his fingerprints, and smiled warmly.

"So," his voice rumbled in my ear, "we didn't use a condom."

"Nope."

"Or birth control."

"Nope.

"And...you were okay with that?"

I was silent, but my thoughts were buzzing. I knew what he was implying.

With Roy, I had always feared what a _family_ might mean. Rambunctious boys who were as out of control as their father. Being a mother not only to our children, but to him, too. But as I brushed damp hair from my love's eyes, I saw nothing but a future with him. I couldn't help but smile.

"Do you...do you want kids someday?"

I nodded, smiling wryly with a soft _Mhm_.

He grinned too.

"Maybe not like, nine months from now, but, yeah, I do. Especially if half of their genes are...you know…"

Suddenly embarrassed, I buried my nose against his chest and held onto him tighter. His soft, shaky, "Yeah, me too," reassured me that I wasn't alone in my feelings.

We decided to buy a box of condoms to hold us over anyway, just in case. But I realized that, if I _were_ to be pregnant with Jim Halpert's baby anytime soon, I would be completely over the moon about it.


End file.
